 
## (3 Book Romance Bundle)

## Loving The Bull Ride

## Cowboy Down Under

## The Escort Next Door
Copyright 2016

Published by Carla Davis at Smashwords

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# Table of Contents

Loving The Bull Rider

Cowboy Down Under

The Escort Next Door

#  Loving The Bull Rider

by

Helen Evans
Copyright © 2014 by Helen Evans

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Loving The Bull Rider

All rights reserved.

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. No part of this work may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording and faxing, or by any information storage and retrieval system by anyone but the purchaser for their own personal use.

This book may not be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of Helen Evans, except in the case of a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages for the sake of a review written for inclusions in a magazine, newspaper, or journal—and these cases require written approval from Helen Evans prior to publication. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

# Chapter One

Dinner Guest

I distractedly chewed my food, my attention too focused on the novel I was reading to notice much of anything else around me. Although the sterile, cool air of the hospital caused goose bumps on my arms, which was hard to ignore, or maybe that was a result of the place I was at in my book. The heroine was moments away from certain death, but the hero was right outside the door, ready to barge in and rescues her. I sighed.

If only my life were a romance novel. I could get out of this small town, away from the monotony of my job, and the loneliness of my bed. Of course, I'd have to leave my family, but that would be a small price to pay for some excitement in my life. I took another bite of my turkey sandwich, and then set it down on the cellophane wrapping it had come in. I flipped through the pages faster, wanting to witness the heartfelt reunion between the two main characters when the hospital's intercom buzzed.

"Nurse Montgomery to the ER. Nurse Montgomery to the ER."

So much for having a peaceful lunch break. I really should stop expecting the luxury of finishing a meal in this place. I gathered my trash and tossed it into the garbage can on my way out of the cafeteria. As I stood waiting for the elevator, I seriously considered what my life would be like if I were to leave this town. I'd been born and raised here in this small town of Onalaska, Georgia. But the town was dwindling, people were leaving, factories were closing, jobs were being lost. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful everyday for the things I have, but I can't help but wonder if there isn't more out there.

The elevator dinged, and I stepped inside the crowded car. There were a couple of nurses who were new to the staff. They gave me polite smiles and carried on with their private conversation as if I weren't even there. I stared at the glowing numbers as they slowly ticked down, until they finally stopped on the first floor.

"This is me," I mumbled as I stepped out into the ER. "You paged me?" I said to Claire, the secretary on duty.

"Oh, hey Rebecca. Doctor Masters is looking for you. He's in the fourth exam room on the left."

"Thanks," I said, as I headed back toward the hallway of exam rooms. I wasn't all that surprised Doctor Masters paged me specifically. We worked well together, and I was one of the few nurses who could handle his brusque, no-nonsense attitude.

I carefully pulled open the curtain and peeked inside. "You asked for me, Doctor Masters?"

"Yes. Come in."

Stepping inside, I pulled the curtain closed to protect the patient's privacy, and went to stand beside the doctor.

"What do we have today?" He said. There was a young boy lying on the table, face pale and clammy, eyes closed.

"Broken ankle. It needs to be set, and I need your help," Doctor Masters said as he moved around the bed. "He's already been given a mild sedative and some pain medication. I had to send his parents back to the waiting room. His mother was inconsolable."

I nodded. I would've preferred to have been able to speak to the patient directly, but he was clearly out as a result of the sedative. It was for the best. Setting a bone was painful, and not something any child should have to be conscious enough to experience. "What's his name?" I asked.

"Billy Jenkins."

The Jenkins boy. I should've known. His family had lived on my street for almost three years now. I smoothed the hair from his forehead and leaned closer. "It's okay, Billy. It's me, Rebecca. I'm going to be right here the entire time, okay?"

I knew he couldn't answer me, and I doubted he could even hear me, but I was a firm believer that a kind voice during a trauma like this was helpful. Other nurses and even a majority of the doctors thought I wasted my time, but I didn't care. In my mind, I was helping and that's all that mattered to me.

"Are you ready?" Doctor Masters asked.

"Yes," I leaned over the boy's body in an effort to keep him still in the off chance he jerked involuntarily while having his ankle set. It wouldn't be the first time it happened.

I closed my eyes and tried to prepare myself for the unmistakable sound of the bones being cracked and set back into place. I heard Doctor Masters quietly count to three, and then I cringed. No matter how many times I did this, I would never get comfortable with that sound. It always reminded me of the time I'd fallen off my grandfather's horse and broke my leg. I swore the sound of it had been worse than the pain itself.

"All right, let's get this foot into a cast before he wakes."

"Ok," I responded. I once again smoothed the hair from the little boys face and smiled. There didn't appear to be any signs of distress on his face, and I was thankful for that. "Would you like me to let his parents know things went well?" I asked.

"Yes, that would be great," he said, scribbling on the boy's chart, not bothering to look up from it. "Have me paged as soon as you get that cast on, and I'll give his family discharge instructions."

"Okay," I told the Doctor. I scurried out of the room to gather the supplies for a cast, including another set of hands. Thankfully, I only had an hour left of my shift. It had been calm compared to some nights, but still, I was exhausted. It would be heaven to get home and climb into my bed.

***

I pulled into my driveway and shut off my car, but not before I saw the silhouette of someone sitting on my porch. My heart leapt into my throat. I rarely had visitors, and I never had them at this late an hour. I turned my headlights back on to get a better look at who was lurking, but it didn't do much to help. So, I rolled down my window and stuck my head out.

"Hello, can I help you?" I asked nervously.

"For God's sake, Becca. It's only me," a familiar voice shot back.

"Michelle?" I breathed a sigh of relief and got out of the car. What was my sister doing here? Better yet, why was she on my porch like this? "Why didn't you use your key?" I asked as I climbed the steps up to the porch.

"I lost it," she said.

I frowned. She lost my house key? That was comforting. I made a mental note to have my locks changed.

"Please don't look at me like that," Michelle said, standing and following me inside. "It's probably somewhere in all my boxes."

Right. She was in the process of moving. I'd forgotten. "How's that going anyway?" I asked as I kicked off my shoes and turned on the lights. The scent of my lilac air freshener filled the room and made me smile. It was so much better than the smell of that awful cleaning solution they use at the hospital.

Michelle shrugged. "It's going slow. Jax isn't making it very easy on me. Every time I go to the house to get more stuff, he's there, begging me not to leave, to give him another chance." She plopped down on the couch. "I don't know how much longer I can go on like this. I'm so close to giving in." She said as she looked up at me for judgment.

"Oh, Michelle, you can't do that." I sat beside her and gave her a hug. "Every time you feel like going back, remember what he did to you."

"I know." She sighed. "But Nana and Grandpa always told us to forgive and forget. It's the quickest way to a happier life."

I smiled at the memory of my grandparents and how they would always say things like that. They were wonderful people, taken from us much too soon. "Yes, they did say that, but they also always told us not to be doormats, remember?" I shot back at her.

She nodded, but remained silent.

"Jax has been mooching off you for over a year, Michelle. He's refusing to get a job; he's blown your savings, and you caught him cheating on you." I shook my head and gave her a sympathetic smile. "Forgive him if it will make you feel better, but don't forget what he's done, and please don't take that loser back."

At that, Michelle laughed. "Thanks, Becca. You always know how to make me feel better." She hugged me then stood. "I'm sorry I was lurking on your porch like some weird stalker."

I laughed. "You don't ever have to apologize for coming here. My door is always open to you. And probably to the rest of this town, too, thanks to a lost key." I winked.

Michelle groaned. "I swear I will find your key."

"Thanks. You hungry?" I responded.

"Starved." She told me.

Despite being grateful for my job, I was not grateful for the weird schedule I was on as a result of it. Working nights really messed with my internal clock. Here it was, almost midnight, and I was starting dinner. This was not good for my waistline.

"I'm not sure what I have, but I'm sure I can throw something together." I went to the kitchen, and Michelle followed. After a quick inventory of my cabinets and refrigerator, I found some leftover chicken and pasta. I tossed them into a baking dish, covered it with a jar of spaghetti sauce and mozzarella cheese, and put it in the oven. Not my most gourmet meal, but it would do.

I turned to find Michelle sitting at the breakfast bar, arms propped on the counter top, watching me. I smiled and asked, "What?"

"Nothing." She shook her head and straightened. "How was work?"

I shrugged. "Same old, same old. Broken bones, runny noses, heart attacks. Nothing exciting."

"If you hate it so much, why don't you quit, Becca?"

I hated how intuitive my sister was; she knew me too well. It was impossible to hide anything from her, and I knew she'd heard the melancholy in my voice. I sighed. "I don't hate it, but I just wish I was doing something more fulfilling, you know?" I shrugged and turned to check on my impromptu casserole.

"Well, you know what I think of your career choice." Michelle said as she joined me near the stove, opening the cabinet and retrieving two plates. "Mom and Dad totally strong-armed you into being a nurse."

I really didn't want to have this conversation with her again. Was she right? Of course, but I didn't need to tell her that. She knew it already. I'd become a nurse because my parents wanted me to, convinced me it was the smartest thing to do. It was a source of stability in an unstable town. Even though it wasn't my life aspiration to be a nurse, I couldn't be angry with my parents. They'd been looking out for my best interests, and they'd been right. Because of my job, I was able to live comfortably and had even bought my own house last year.

I took the pasta from the oven and set it on the counter. "If you promise to drop this, I'll open that expensive bottle of wine I bought last month."

Michelle grinned. "Deal."

I laughed. It was so easy to distract her with the temptation of a fine wine. While she scooped food onto our plates, I grabbed the bottle of wine and two glasses. I was glad she was here tonight. I really didn't want to be alone.

# Chapter Two

Night Shift

I hated working the night shift, but I did enjoy working on the fourth floor. It was much calmer than the ER or even the children's wing. This ward was reserved for adult patients who'd been admitted for various reasons. In the five years I'd worked at this hospital, not once had the ward been full. Tonight wasn't any different. After working in the ER for the past week, I welcomed the silence. Maybe I'd finally get to finish my book.

I sat behind the nurses' station, checking the patient schedule to see who needed vitals checked or medication when John, one of the orderlies, came down the hallway, wheeling a patient in front of him. I stood, knowing I'd have to check in that patient and get him settled. As he got closer, I couldn't help but notice how attractive the patient was despite being badly bruised.

"Good evening, John." I nodded.

"Rebecca. This is Lucas Hudson. He's been admitted for the night for observation." John held out the file for me to take.

I took it and tucked it under my arm. I'd look it over once the patient was settled. It would be rude to do so now when he was clearly uncomfortable in that chair. "Room four o six is empty." I told John.

John wheeled Lucas into the room, and I followed. After getting Lucas settled into the bed, John left. Suddenly, I was very self-conscious around this man. He was very sexy with dark brown hair and eyes to match. Beneath all the cuts and bruises, he had strong cheekbones and a masculine jaw.

"Hi, Mr. Hudson. I'm Rebecca, and I'll be looking after you tonight."

"Well, maybe being stuck here won't be so bad after all." He said with a smile. I wished I'd been sitting down, because the effect was devastating. Deep, southern drawl combined with a crooked smile that showed off perfectly, straight, white teeth was a deadly combination.

I nervously cleared my throat, unsure how to respond to that. It was a compliment, wasn't it? No one had ever said anything like that to me before. "Um..."

He laughed at my obvious discomfort. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he said with a broad smile.

"No," I shook my head, "really, it's okay, Mr. Hudson."

He groaned. "Please call me Lucas."

"Right." I nodded. "Okay, Lucas, is there anything I can get for you? Some water or a magazine maybe?"

He shifted in the bed. "Some water would be good. That damn bull did a number on my windpipe."

I stared at him. "Bull?" I asked confusingly.

"Yes, I was trampled by a bull," he said, as if it were an everyday occurrence and no big deal.

Again, I had no idea what to say to him, so I grabbed the empty pitcher from the bedside table and left to go fill it with ice and water. How on earth had that poor man been trampled by a bull? I was curious to know, but thought it might be rude to ask. He must work on some sort of farm. That was the only plausible explanation. It's not like bulls ran wild around here.

When I returned, he was fully upright in bed with the television on and turned to a local news station. I moved the bed table over to him and poured a cup of water.

"Here you go." I offered.

He graced me with another gorgeous smile. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Oh, please call me Becca." As soon as the words left my mouth I wished I could take them back. Only my sister called me Becca. It had been a childhood nickname that I'd hated, and was pleased when I became a nurse and was able to insist people call me Rebecca. Why on earth I'd just told him to call me Becca was beyond me.

"All right, Becca." He grinned.

I stood there for a moment longer than necessary, knowing I should just leave, but unable to make my legs cooperate. "How did you get trampled by a bull?" I blurted out.

He stared at me for a moment, in shock or anger I wasn't sure, but I held my breath hoping he wouldn't be upset or report me for bad behavior. In his silence, I was able to get another long look at him. He was possibly the sexiest man I'd ever seen in this town, and I knew he wasn't from around here.

"I'm a bull rider." He finished his water and set the cup on the table, focusing his gaze on me. "How else would I have been trampled by a bull?"

Amusement danced in his dark eyes, and I felt foolish for asking such a dumb question in the first place. Of course he was a bull rider. That explained not only his injuries, but all the muscles in his arms and shoulders and legs, and even in his back. Yeah, I hadn't missed those. It was impossible not to notice them.

"I...uh, I don't know." I laughed. "I'm sorry. It's not every day we get someone in here who's been in this type of accident. It kind of threw me for a loop."

"That's okay." He winked, and that small gesture sent butterflies through my stomach.

"Okay, well, if you need anything, just push this button," I held up the device with the paging button, "and I'll come back in." I smiled.

"All right then, thanks for your help." He told me with another great smile.

God, that voice, that southern drawl – it sent shivers down my spine. Growing up in this small Georgia town, I was accustomed to hearing men and women speak this way, but there was something oddly unique about the way Lucas spoke. It was like a combination of southern gentleman and city boy.

"Okay," I said again, still smiling. _He must think I'm an idiot for how much I'm smiling at him._ I thought to myself

"Doctor Nichols usually makes his final rounds around ten o'clock or so, but if you need him for something sooner, please let me know."

"I have a feeling I will be just fine under your care." He quickly responded with another wink.

My heart raced. I may not have a lot of experience when it comes to men, but I could tell when one was flirting with me, and Lucas was definitely flirting with me. I felt the blush on my cheeks, and I turned my face away before he could see it. With a firm nod, I left his room even though I didn't really want to. But I had other patients to tend to. Not many, but I couldn't necessarily neglect them simply because the sexy bull rider in room four o six had piqued my interest.

It took me almost an hour to make my rounds, and when I'd finished with everyone else, I returned to Lucas's room. "Hello again. How're you feeling?" I asked him.

"Sore." He responded.

I didn't miss the way he straightened in bed or the way his face lit up when I'd entered the room.

I went to his chart and checked his medication dosage. "Hmm, looks like you're not due for any more pain meds until midnight." I looked up at him and frowned. "Can I get you an ice pack or heating pad to help ease the pain a bit?"

"No, thank you. But I could go for some conversation if you have the time." He said, while nodding to the chair in the corner.

I'd never had a patient ask me to sit and talk with them before. I'd had patients babble as I checked their vitals or administered their medication, but this was different. Lucas wanted me to stay in his room longer. I had just finished my rounds, and the ward was quieter than usual tonight. What harm could come from sitting and having a conversation with him?

I pulled the chair from the corner and positioned it near this bed. Then I sat. "So, you're a bull rider huh?"

"Yes." He smiled. "I'd always thrived on danger when I was a child. Then when I became a teen, I became an adrenaline junkie." He laughed. "Bull riding seemed like a natural progression."

"Is this your first injury?" I asked inquisitively.

"No. It's my worst, but not my first." He shifted in bed, and I saw how he winced in pain.

I began to stand, and he held up his hand to stop me. I abruptly sat back in the chair. "Are you sure there's nothing I can do for you?" I'm a nurse. It's my job to help ease people's pain. I feel useless sitting here doing nothing.

"Could you help me prop these pillows behind my back?"

I stood and retrieved an extra pillow from the supply closet down the hall. Taking Lucas's hand, I eased him forward, noticing how large and warm his hand was. And it was rough, no doubt a result of his chosen profession. My Nana had always told me a man with rough hands was a man with a soft heart. I couldn't help but wonder if that was true of Lucas. I gently tucked the pillows behind him, and then continued to hold his hand until he was settled.

He rubbed his thumb along the back of my hand, sending a delicious electric shiver through my body. "You have such soft skin," he said.

I could feel my cheeks blaze to life. I quickly averted my gaze. "Thank you." I sheepishly responded.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped my bounds. I've just never met anyone with such an amazing bedside manner. And I've met my fair share of doctors and nurses."

I smiled and sat back down. "Well, you've definitely chosen a unique and dangerous profession, Lucas."

He smiled at me, and I thanked God I was already sitting. I didn't think my legs could handle another knee-weakening smile like he was giving me.

"I'm still fairly new at it. I've only been riding professionally for about a year now. It's exciting and allows me to travel."

That was something I'd always dreamed of doing. I realized the more he talked, the more engrossed I became in his life, his stories, in him. I'd never been faced with this type of situation before, but wondered if it was unethical to become romantically involved with a patient.

Oh, now I was just being silly. Just because we had an obvious connection didn't mean we were going to become romantically involved. For all I knew, he had a wife. I glanced at his left hand. No wedding band. Okay, but that didn't mean he didn't have a girlfriend or fiancée somewhere in the world.

"Tonight's show was my homecoming of sorts. Guess I really blew that, huh?" He laughed, as I snapped back to reality.

I tilted my head to the side, my ears buzzing. "Homecoming? You're from around here?"

"Yeah, the next town over. Covanta. Do you know of it?"

I nodded. It was the closest city to our small town, and it was where the hospital received its supplies from. The news he lived so close by excited me much more than it should.

"I've been on the road this past year with the rodeo, and we just finally returned to Covanta. There was a big hoopla about my return. You know the story. Local boy returns with rodeo as a star." He laughed again.

I couldn't ignore how jovial he was despite his accident and subsequent injuries. It was a breath of fresh air to experience his positivity when so many patients had all doom and gloom attitudes.

"If nothing else, you'll be remembered as the local boy who returned and got trampled by a bull." I smiled, unable to believe I'd actually just said that. It was kind of rude and uncaring.

Thankfully, Lucas smiled and said. "Touché."

"And how long is this homecoming celebration of yours?" I asked.

"Originally, two weeks, but now with my injuries, it will more than likely be postponed a bit. A lot of the guys wanted more time off anyway. They have family in Covanta. This will give them time to spend some time with them." Lucas paused. "I guess my mistake really does make me a hero."

I forced a laugh. The news he'd only be around for a couple of weeks hit hard. I was thoroughly enjoying talking to him, getting to know him, and was sad to know he'd be leaving again so soon. I hid my disappointment as best I could, not wanting him to know how much of a hopeless romantic I was. I'd always believed in love at first sight, but it was a belief that had gotten me in trouble more than once.

The buzzer at the nurses' station beeped loudly. I stood. "Duty calls," I said.

"Hey," he reached out and took my hand, his touch doing funny things to my insides again, "will you come back when you're done?"

I broke into a full-fledged smile. "I'd love to." And with that, I left his room to tend to my other patients.

# Chapter Three

Four O Six

"Hello, Mr. Robertson," I said cheerfully as I entered the room. "What can I do for you?"

"I need more water." His voice was raspy, and listening to him made my own throat hurt.

"Okay, coming right up." I took the pitcher and filled it with cold water. He'd drunk the last pitcher so fast the ice hadn't had time to melt. I brought it back into his room and poured him a cup, holding it out for him. He took it and drank it down in one gulp. Then he held it out for more.

I poured him another cup, only half full this time, and handed it back. "Go easy, Mr. Robertson. You don't want to strain your throat after your surgery."

"Thank you," he rasped, and then winced. "Could I get another blanket? It's quite chilly in here."

Smiling, I nodded. Mr. Robertson was probably as old as this town, but he just kept on racking up the years. He'd just celebrated his ninety-fifth birthday last month. Of course, you wouldn't know it if you saw him. He was very active for his age. I grabbed a blanket from the supply closet and return to put it over him. I was embarrassed to admit I was anxious to get back to Lucas's room.

"Is there anything else you need?" I asked as I adjusted the call button and positioned it around the bed railing so he had easier access to it.

"Nope. I think I'm good."

I nodded. "Well then, get some rest." I said with a smile before leaving his room.

My heart raced as I walked down the hall toward Lucas's room. I couldn't help but feel as if I'd made an instant connection with him. And he had definitely been flirting with me earlier. Besides, sitting with him beat sitting alone at the nurses' station all night.

"How are you doing in here?" I asked Lucas once I got to his room.

Lucas gave me a smile and said, "much better now."

I felt the heat of embarrassment creep up my neck. He clicked off the television and nodded at the chair I'd sat in earlier. I sat, feeling a lot more relaxed now than I had earlier. "Watching anything good?" I said as I motioned toward the television.

"I was watching a recap of the sports news to see if there was any mention of the rodeo. I'm curious to know how the guys did."

"I'm surprised your room isn't overflowing with all your bull rider friends." I told him.

In a small town like this, when someone landed in the hospital, everyone always came to visit or at the very least to get the latest gossip.

"Oh, I'm sure they'll swarm the place tomorrow. The show can't stop simply because I was hurt." He told me with a sly smile.

I wondered if the show would stop if someone died, but I didn't ask that. It seemed insensitive and quite frankly, morbid. "So you said you'd be around here for a few weeks. Where is your next stop?"

"We're heading back to Texas."

"I've always wanted to go to Texas." I smiled. There were a lot of places I wanted to go, but for some reason, Texas had always been at the top of my list.

"It's a beautiful state." Lucas said as he adjusted in the bed to face me. "Enough about me, tell me about yourself. How long have you been a nurse?"

"Almost five years now."

"Did you always want to be a nurse?"

I was asked that question a lot, but there was something truly sincere about the way Lucas asked. It was like he was genuinely interested in my answer. "No." I shook my head. "I've always wanted to work with animals. Not a veterinarian or anything, but to do something that involved helping them, like an animal rescue."

Lucas chuckled and asked, "How on earth did you become a nurse then?"

I shrugged and averted my gaze. "This town isn't exactly thriving, but leaving isn't exactly an option. I was born and raised in this town. My parents and my siblings are here, and I've never really been anywhere else. Nursing was a stable career choice."

"Yeah, but life is much too short to spend it doing something you don't love."

I looked up at him, amazed at how profound that statement was. Michelle was constantly telling me I should do something different, something I wanted to do and not cater to my parents' wishes, but hearing it put that way... It was like a light bulb going off in my head.

"What do you do when you're not here taking care of people like me?" Lucas continued to say.

"I like to read quite a bit, and I enjoy baking. Actually, I like to create my own recipes by just throwing things together and seeing how it comes out. More often than not they come out inedible." I said laughing. "And I spend a lot of time with my sister, Michelle. She's going through a bit of a rough time right now."

"I read a lot, too. There's not really much else to do when you spend so much time on the road, you know. What's your favorite book?" He asked curiously.

I was shocked to find out he liked to read. Not many of the men in this town did. At least, not any I'd met that I'd been interested in.

"Wow, that's a tough question." I laughed. "Hmm, if I had to only pick one, it would have to be _The Great Gatsby_."

Lucas sat up and swung his legs over to hang off the side of the bed. "Did one of my rodeo buddies show up and tell you to say that?" He said as he jokingly pretended to look out of the room and into the hallway.

I turned to see what he was looking at, but the hallway, as I expected, was empty. Turning back to him, I shook my head. "No. It's just my favorite book."

His posture softened, and he smiled again. "It's mine, too."

My eyes widened, and I sat forward in the chair a little. No wonder he reacted the way he did. Granted, that book was a classic, and lots of people had read it, but it wasn't necessarily something people owned up to.

"It is?" I asked.

"Yeah." He nodded. "One of the guys caught me reading it one night and hasn't let me live it down. He calls it a "girly" book, and he teases me about it every chance he gets. I wouldn't put it past him to have told you about it."

I smiled. "Rest assured, I have not met your friend, and he hasn't told me anything about you or your reading habits."

"It's a very tragic love story, don't you think?"

Once again, Lucas managed to shock me. I kind of expected him to say he loved Gatsby and how he was wealthy and smart and threw such extravagant parties.

"Yes." I sighed. "The ending always moves me to tears."

"I'm tired of being in this bed. Can I get up and walk around?" he asked suddenly.

It wasn't unheard of for patients to get out of bed and walk the floor, but it also wasn't something we generally encouraged, especially at this late hour because it could disrupt other patients. But I didn't want to tell him no.

"Uh, yeah, I guess that would be okay."

"Would you care to join me?" He was already out of bed, standing in front of me, hand extended.

I swallowed hard and took his proffered hand, which was so warm and large compared to mine. Doing this would probably get me in some sort of trouble, but I supposed I could just tell anyone who asked that I was helping him around. At least that would explain our hand holding, which was both awkward and wonderful at the same time. Once in the hallway, Lucas released my hand, but he stayed close enough to me our shoulders touched as we walked.

"You mentioned your sister Michelle. Is she your only sibling?" He asked, as we continued to walk.

"No. I have another sister, Christina, but she's living in New York now with her husband. He's an attorney, and she just got a job in a fashion house."

"That's impressive."

"Yeah, I'm really proud of her. What about you? Any siblings?" I countered.

"No, I'm an only child. My parents are alive and still living in Covanta. My grandfather is still there, too. He owns a huge horse farm." He smiled. "At his age, he has trouble with the upkeep, but refuses to sell. It was my grandmother's dream to live on a horse ranch, and he can't bear to part with it since she passed."

"I'm sorry." I responded with a slight frown. "Both of my grandparents were very important to me, too. They taught me and my sisters so much. They died when I was young. There's not a day that goes by that I don't miss them."

Lucas gently nudged me with this shoulder, an obvious gesture of compassion and empathy. I smiled at him, realizing again just how handsome he was.

"I hated being an only child." He laughed. "It was awful always being alone like that."

"I can't even imagine." I told him. My sisters were my best friends, my childhood playmates. Not having them in my life was unfathomable.

"Eventually, when I'm ready to start a family, I want to have a lot of kids. I think to compensate for my lonely childhood." He said with a wink, causing my heart to flutter. "I had to go through a CAT scan after my last accident. The rodeo manager wanted to make sure I hadn't done any serious damage to my brain."

"I've noticed you don't have a wedding band on your finger," he said as we reached the end of the hall and away from all the occupied rooms. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

Wow. I hadn't expected our conversation to take a turn in this direction. I mean, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't flattered or intrigued. But I think he was trying to change the subject because of the look of concern I had on my face after he mentioned possible brain damage.

"No, no boyfriend." I politely responded.

He grinned. "I'm honestly surprised. A beautiful woman like you...single?"

"Well believe it." I said with a sly grin. We then turned and headed back the way we came.

"Could I take you out sometime?"

My steps faltered when his question registered in my brain. Lucas wanted to take me out? I wanted to say yes so badly, but... I couldn't get any more involved with this man, not when he was only passing through and would be leaving in a few weeks. I was at that point in my life when I was ready to settle down; I wasn't looking for a fling.

"No, I'm sorry. I don't think that's a good idea."

# Chapter Four

Second Chance

It had been three days since Lucas was discharged from the hospital, and I missed him terribly, which was so silly. I barely knew him, had only spent one night talking to him. Of course, I had spent a majority of that night with him learning just how much we had in common, how sweet and compassionate he was. Even after I'd turned down his invitation to go out, he still wanted me around, wanted to talk and spend time with me. I did feel bad about turning him down like I had, but I just couldn't allow myself to get any closer to him, to open up my heart to a man who would be leaving in a few weeks with no definitive return date.

I'd told Michelle all about him, and she thought I was crazy for not taking a chance on him. She just didn't get it. She was younger than me by a few years; she still had time to find a decent man – unlike that lowlife she was still in the process of leaving – and settle down, start a family. I didn't have that luxury. My mother reminded me every chance she got that I wasn't getting any younger and that no man wants a woman in her mid-thirties. That always made me feel good considering I was only twenty-eight. I had a couple years before I even reached thirty.

Still, my thoughts had been consumed by memories of Lucas. I sighed as I washed my hands, preparing to check in and see where I was stationed today. Maybe Michelle was right. Maybe I should've taken a chance with Lucas. No harm could come from a single date, and it would be an easy transition back into the dating world. I was comfortable around Lucas; he was easy to talk to, and he made me laugh. Too bad I had no idea where he'd gone when he left the hospital.

I dried my hands and left the nurses' lounge. "Hey, Julie, where do you need me today?" I asked the head nurse on duty.

"Sarah called in sick today, so I need you to cover her at the In-Patient Medical Center. I'm working on getting someone else in here so they can take over there, and you can go back up to the fourth floor."

The In-Patient Medical Center was technically part of the hospital, but it was in the new portion that had been built right before I started working here. It was like a walk-in doctor's office for people who needed a check-up after being admitted to the hospital or for anyone who needed non-life threatening medical attention, but didn't have a doctor of their own. As far as places to work within the hospital, it was one of the easiest places to be. I would love to be permanently assigned there.

"Or maybe I'll find someone to take your place up on four. Doctor Masters is working the medical center today, and I swear you're the only one who likes that guy." Julie said as she laughed.

I shrugged. "He's not so bad."

"If you say so." Julie responded as she handed me a chart. "This is our first patient of the day. Post admission check-up. Vicki already signed him in."

I took the chart from her, not bothering to really look at it and went to the in-patient waiting room. I pushed the door open, prepared to call the patient back when I stopped cold. There was only one person in the waiting room – Lucas.

My heart stopped, and I smiled at the sight of him. He sat in the uncomfortable chair, back stiff as a board, and he had a bouquet of daisies in his hand. Daisies – my favorite flower, homage to the character Daisy Buchanan from _The Great Gatsby_. I cleared my throat, and he looked in my direction. When he saw me, he stood, smiling. How could I have forgotten how handsome he was, how great his smile was in the couple of days I hadn't seen him?

"Rebecca," he said as he approached, "these are for you."

It was completely unorthodox for a patient to bring a nurse flowers like this, but it was hands down the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for me. I took them, bringing them to my nose to smell them. "Thank you, Lucas, but you didn't have to do this."

"Sure I did." He said. "You took such good care of me the night I was here. I wanted to let you know how much I appreciated it."

Nodding, I smiled. "Follow me." I wasn't horribly embarrassed by the gesture, but I also didn't want another staff member to overhear anything and question what was going on. I led Lucas to the open room at the end of the hall.

I stepped into the room behind him and closed the door. I sat the chart I was holding on the counter, and then paused. The flowers were professionally wrapped in plastic paper, but it seemed kind of rude to just set them on the counter. I grabbed a paper cup from the dispenser, filled it with water, and put the flowers in it, propping them against the wall so they wouldn't fall over. Then I turned back to Lucas, who was standing near the bed, smiling.

"What?" I asked self-consciously.

"You are so much more beautiful than I remembered." He told me in the most genuine tone.

My eyes widened at his compliment. I hadn't expected that. "Thanks," I said, feeling the slow heat creep through my body. I hoped inside that I wouldn't blush too hard in front of him. "Uh, go ahead and have a seat." I nodded to the bed.

Lucas hopped up on it, and I flipped open his chart, needing something to distract me from where my thoughts were leading – me, him, a private room, that bed. God, I had to stop the naughty thoughts.

"So, how are you feeling?" I asked as I picked up the chart to jot down some notes.

"Much better. I'm a little sore first thing in the morning, but once I get up and move around it's better. How are you?"

I couldn't stop from glancing over my shoulder at him and smiling. "I'm well, thank you." I took a moment to double check that his weight and height were noted in the chart, and then I went through all the medical history questions with him. I was stalling, knowing I had to actually go over to him and take his vitals.

Swallowing hard, I set my pen down on his chart and reached for the blood pressure cuff. "Hold out your arm, please." I asked.

When he did, I wrapped the cuff around his arm and kept my head down until I was finished. I then quickly took his temperature.

"Am I dying?" he asked with a chuckle.

"No, so far so good." I responded as I stood in front of him. "Can I see your wrist, please?" When he turned his hand so his palm was up, I placed two fingers against his pulse point. I was struck with how smooth his skin was right there, how warm it felt.

"I can assure you, my heart is working just fine." He said sarcastically.

The low, deep tone of his voice caused my insides to tremble. I looked up at him, awestruck by the intensity of his gaze. "You're heart's racing," I whispered.

He leaned forward a little, putting himself closer to me. "That's because you're touching me, Rebecca."

The way he said my name felt like a lover's caress, something that should've been shared someplace private and romantic, not in the hard, sterile environment of an exam room.

"I'm almost done," I said, trying not to look him directly in the eyes for fear I would blush even more.

He put his other hand over mine, holding my fingers to his wrist. "Will you please let me take you to dinner?"

Now my heart was racing, too. I licked my lips, wanting to tear my gaze from his and tell him no again in a pathetic attempt to protect myself from heartbreak, but I had a feeling it was already too late. When I hesitated, Lucas lightly caressed my hand with his thumb, sending a jolt of burning desire through me. If such a simple touch had this effect on me, how would I ever survive a date with him?

"It's just dinner, Rebecca." His voice whispered through my mind. "I will be the perfect gentleman, I promise." He smiled, and my resolve cracked.

"Okay." I nodded. "Dinner."

His face lit up with excitement, and I guess a bit of shock, too. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." I laughed.

Lucas took my hand and brought it to his mouth, giving my knuckles a soft kiss. "I'll pick you up at seven."

"I will give you my address before you leave today."

"Perfect." He responded.

Taking my hand back, I gave him a smile, wanting him to know I was excited about our date, but not wanting him to know how nervous I was. It had been a long time since I'd been on a date. I had no idea what to wear or what we'd talk about or... What if he wanted to kiss me? Would I let him? I let my gaze settle on his lips, and then lower, to his muscular arms and chest. I could envision my hands roaming over his while we kissed. Oh yeah, I would most certainly let him kiss me if he tried.

"All right." I said, as I closed his chart and tucked it under my arm. "Doctor Masters will be in to see you shortly."

Lucas nodded. "Any chance I can convince you to keep me company until he arrives?"

"I'd love to, but there are other patients who need my attention, too."

He frowned. "I should probably tell you that I don't like to share." He winked, and then his face broke into the sexiest smile ever.

"Neither do I," I said before walking out and leaving him in the room alone. As I closed the door, I could hear his soft laugh, and I shook my head. Lucas Hudson was definitely one of a kind, and I was sure he'd be a lot more than I could ever handle, but I was determined to have some fun trying.

Half an hour later, when Lucas was finished with Doctor Masters, I was at the front desk with the receptionist, Diane, trying to help locate prescription history for a patient. He came out of the back and stood at the desk, grinning. I straightened and pulled a folded piece of paper from my pocket.

"Here's that information I promised you, Mr. Hudson."

He took the paper, his hand brushing against mine when he did, and smiled.

Mutual understanding passed between us, and I was thankful he got it without me having to tell him. I'm sure there weren't any rules about a nurse dating a patient, but in a small town like this, news could travel fast, and I didn't want anyone to know my personal business. Plus, I wanted to keep Lucas all to myself for a while, especially considering he was only here for a short amount of time.

Who knows? Maybe a hot, passionate fling with a sexy bull rider was exactly what I needed to spice up my life. And I had no doubts it would be passionate. I could tell that just by the way he looked at me. My heart raced thinking about it now.

"Okay, well, I guess I'm out of here," Lucas said, disrupting me from my thoughts.

I smiled. "Have a good day, Mr. Hudson."

"I will." He smiled. "Although I have a feeling my evening is going to be a hundred times better." Lucas tapped his hands on the desk, and then turned to leave.

I blew out a shaky breath, knowing my concentration was shot. It was going to be a very long day. But I couldn't wait to call Michelle and tell her. She'd be so excited for me!

# Chapter Five

Dinner

I had just finished slipping my shoes on when the doorbell rang. My heart leapt into my throat. Lucas's punctuality was an admirable quality, but now I had to actually face him and spend the entire evening with him. I was excited, but my nerves were gnawing at me. Taking a deep breath, I went to answer the door and was greeted by a large bouquet of white roses. I laughed, and Lucas lowered them so I could see his handsome face.

"Really, Lucas. If you bring me flowers every time you see me, I'll be able to start my own floral store." I took the flowers from him and stepped aside to allow him to enter. "They're beautiful. Thank you. And they smell amazing." I told him as I took a big whiff of the flowers.

"They're not nearly as beautiful as you are, Rebecca." He said with a cunning smile.

"Thank you." I responded as I turned away from him, not wanting him to see me blushing. "Let me just put these in some water, and then we can go. Would you care for a drink?"

"No, thanks." He said as followed me into the kitchen. "Wow. This is a nice kitchen."

I retrieved a vase from under the skin and filled it with water. "It was because of this kitchen that I bought this house. I told you I like to bake." I glanced at him and smiled. "And you need a lot of room to move around while baking."

"Well, you'll have to teach me how sometime."

"To bake?" I laughed and put the flowers into the vase then washed my hands. "I don't think I've ever taught anyone to bake before."

"I promise I'm a quick learner." He winked; his body extremely close to mine. I inhaled sharply and nodded. "Good. Are we ready?" He finally asked.

"Yes." I smiled and as we headed out the door, I grabbed my sweater from the back of the recliner. Not that I would really need it. The weather was warm so I probably wouldn't need it, but it had become a habit to always have a light sweater or jacket when I left the house. It was another invaluable piece of wisdom my grandparents had imparted to me.

Lucas was a perfect gentleman on the drive to the restaurant. He opened every door for me, held it until I was through it, and then entered behind me, always keeping a respectful distance. He had this uncanny ability to make me blush simply by being himself.

When the hostess showed us to our table, Lucas pulled out my chair and waited for me to be seated before he took the seat across from me. "Your waitress will be right with you," the hostess said before turning and leaving us alone.

I looked around the restaurant, letting the ambience settle over me. I'd been to this steakhouse dozens of times before, but being here with Lucas was like seeing it for the first time. It was a quaint place with a brick fireplace in the center giving off enough heat to take the icy chill away from the air conditioning.

"I hope this place is okay. It was highly recommended to me," Lucas said, picking up his menu.

"Yes, it's perfect. I've eaten here before. You're in for a real treat." I smiled and perused my own menu, although I really didn't need to. I couldn't afford to eat here on my own very often, but when I could, I always ordered the steak gorgonzola with the fresh garlic bread and chef salad. Maybe I should skip the bread this time, though. I didn't want to have garlic breath for the remainder of my date. And if he did try to kiss me... Yeah, I was going to skip the bread just to be on the safe side.

"What's good here?" Lucas asked as he looked up from his menu.

"Everything." I laughed and closed my menu, setting it down. "This place is known for their steaks. You can cut them with a fork they're so tender."

"Okay, that's it then." Lucas closed his menu and placed it atop mine. "The steak it is. Would you like to get a bottle of wine?"

I wasn't really a drinker. My uncle was a recovering alcoholic, and I saw what he did to the family, how much contention and problems he caused. Not that I ever thought I'd become an alcoholic.

Lucas reached over and touched my hand, the heat of his touch jerking me back to the present moment. "It's okay if you don't want to. Honestly, I'm not much a drinker myself, but knowing I'm alive and well after my accident and this is our first date, I thought we should celebrate."

Sighing, I smiled. "I'm not really a drinker either, but you know what. I think tonight calls for a glass or two of wine."

Taking my hand, he kissed my fingers in the same way he had before. It was such a sweet thing to do, and I liked it. The last guy I'd gone out with was a jerk. I swore he only asked me out because he thought I would get kinky in the bedroom with him and play nurse. I shuddered at the memory. Thank goodness Lucas wasn't anything like that.

"Do you prefer red or white?" He asked, as he picked up the wine list.

"Something sweet." I responded with a smile.

When the waitress approached a moment later, Lucas ordered an expensive bottle of red wine. I knew it was expensive because when I'd graduated from nursing school, my parents had brought me here to celebrate and my father had ordered the same exact bottle. I really hoped he didn't think he could impress me by spending money. I was already impressed by him.

"Are you ready to order?" The waiter's voice broke our intense gaze at one another.

"I am," I said. Lucas nodded at me to go ahead. "I will have the steak gorgonzola with the chef's salad. No onions, please, and the dressing on the side."

"Very good choice." The waitress smiled. "And for you, sir?"

"I will have the twelve ounce sirloin and a loaded baked potato, extra sour cream, and a chef's salad." Lucas handed her our menus and smiled.

"Great. I will be back with your wine and salads shortly."

When she left again, Lucas took both of my hands into his, his thumbs caressing my fingers. Who knew such a simple touch to that part of my body would feel so erotic? I wondered what it would feel like if he did that on other parts of my body – every part of my body. I pulled my hand from his and took a sip of my ice water, hoping it would cool me down a little. I'd only met this man three days ago, and I was already having those types of thoughts about him. God, what was wrong with me?

"So, what do you do for fun when you're not working or reading or baking?" he asked.

"I like to watch movies, either at home or at the theatre. But I'm not a big fan of television." I chuckled. "There's too many reality shows on for my liking, and let's face it, the things that happen on those shows are not reality."

"No, they certainly aren't." He smiled. "Would you like to go see a movie after dinner? We can drive into Covanta and go to the multiplex."

There really wasn't anything currently playing that I wanted to see, but I didn't want to appear rude. It was a nice offer, and the idea of spending even more time with him was appealing.

"We could. It's such a nice night to be stuck inside though." I responded.

Lucas glanced down where he still held my hand and a faint smile emerged on his face. That look would be the death of me if I weren't careful.

"I've never felt such soft skin before," he said, more to himself than to me.

"As much as I wash them, I have no choice but to use a lot of moisturizer." I responded.

That was probably the dumbest thing I'd ever said on a date, and I've said some pretty stupid things before. It was my nerves. They caused me to ramble incessantly about the craziest things, like hand moisturizer, for example.

He looked up at me, and his eyes had darkened. My heart rate spiked. I could only imagine what he might be thinking. I knew what I was thinking, and it was not appropriate dinner conversation.

"I have an idea. I'll take you to the rodeo so you can see what I do, and you can meet some of the other guys."

Excitement swelled inside of me. I'd never been to a rodeo before. I'd seen them on television and in the movies, but I had a feeling a real life rodeo was nothing like the way Hollywood portrayed them.

"I would love that, Lucas."

"Really?" He responded with surprise.

"Yes." I laughed. "You did spend an entire night at my job, so I guess it's only fair I go see yours."

He laughed, but before he was able to respond, the waitress returned with our bottle of wine and an appetizer. She popped the cork and poured each of us a glass. And then she was gone again.

Lucas lifted his glass and I did the same. "To being alive," he said with a smirk, "and to you, for taking such good care of me. But most of all, to us and the start of what I think is going to be an amazing friendship." He gently tapped his glass to mine, and then took a sip.

I brought my glass to my lips and drank, hoping he didn't see the disappointment in my face. He'd said friendship. I didn't know why that upset me so much. It's not like I expected him to become my boyfriend on the night of our first date, but I had hoped he was looking for more. I should've known better, though. He was only passing through, and I was probably just someone to occupy him while he was here. When he left to go to Texas, I was sure he'd find another young woman to entertain him. I quickly pushed those thoughts out of my mind and chalked it up to my overanalyzing nature. _Live in the moment_ I told myself.

He set his glass down and plucked a scallop from the plate between us; then he held it out to me. "I hope you like these."

"They're my favorite," I said, leaning forward and taking the scallop from him. I heard a faint groan from him when my lips closed around the toothpick, pulling the food from it. And then I saw how his eyes darkened again. I washed it down with a drink of wine.

"Your turn," I shot back as I held out a scallop for him. He took it, as his gaze locked on mine.

It was wrong how sexy it was watching him eat. The way his lips puckered, the way his throat worked, his Adam's apple bobbing, the way he licked the taste from his bottom lip. I realized then just how badly I wanted him to kiss me. In fact, I wished he would do it right here and now.

"You have no idea how happy I am that you agreed to go out with me tonight," he said, taking another drink of his wine.

"I'm happy I'm here, too, Lucas." I smiled. The best part was the date had only just begun. We still had all of dinner and the rodeo after.

# Chapter Six

Rodeo

"Dinner was wonderful, Lucas. Thank you," I said as we drove toward Covanta and the rodeo.

I hadn't expected dessert, but when he'd offered to share a slice of cheesecake with me, I wasn't able to say no. The menu had advertised it as classic New York Style Cheesecake, but Lucas had informed it wasn't anything like traditional New York cheesecake. All I knew was it had been delicious. And filling! I'd eaten way too much.

"You're very welcome." He said, looking over at me with a smile. "I honestly don't think I've ever had such an enjoyable meal. Eating on the road usually consists of grabbing something greasy from a fast food place or a sub with dry, stale bread from a gas station convenience store."

"I don't know how you do it." I said laughing. I was by no means a foodie, but I did enjoy food – cooking it and eating it.

"It's a small price to pay for doing what I love."

"Don't you ever get tired of being on the road?" I said, as I twisted in my seat to face him. "I mean, you've said you wanted a family someday. Do you think you'll ever be able to find that with how much you travel?"

"Yes, I do." He nodded emphatically. "As much as I love Bull Riding, I know it's not something I can do for the rest of my life." He laughed. "Could you imagine? Being in my fifties trying to ride a bull."

I smiled, but didn't laugh. I hated how insecure I felt right now. Lucas was a wonderful man, and if things were different, I wouldn't hesitate to get serious with him, to settle down and pursue that family we both wanted. But I could not let myself fall for him when he was on borrowed time.

"Here we are," he announced as he pulled into a large, dirt parking lot.

The place was a lot bigger than I expected. Of course, never having been to a rodeo before, I really had no idea what to expect. Lucas parked the car and was over to my side, opening the door for me before I had my seatbelt unhooked. I took his proffered hand and got out. The air was warm, the breeze light. The sky was dark, though, sprinkled with the brightest stars I'd ever seen.

Lucas laced the fingers of our hands, and led me toward the large barn-like building set off to our right. "This is where we keep the horses when we're not performing. The bulls are kept over there." He pointed to another large barn to our left.

"So, what exactly do you do? Do you ride the bulls or are you one of those guys who ride the horses and lasso the bulls?"

"I'm primarily a bull rider, but there are times when I get on a horse and lasso. But I usually only do that when one of the cowboys isn't able. Even though we have a full staff of people who tend to the animals, we all pitch in and help out. We're like a big family around here."

"That's great." I said, smiling.

Lucas pulled open the door and motioned for me to enter. I stepped inside and was awestruck by how big it was. Not only were there individual stables for the horses, there was a ring with a secluded viewing room.

"Wow," I whispered, my eyes widening in an effort to take everything in.

"Come on. We can watch." He opened another door, and I followed him up a small flight of stairs to the viewing room, which was nothing more than a long hallway-like room with tall, bar-like chairs that faced the plate glass window.

I stood in front of the window and looked down at the ring. There were two men riding horses, trotting around the ring. One of the men swirled a rope over his head and looped it perfectly around a nearby post as his horse galloped by it. The cowboy pulled his heels into the horse's side, slowing it to stop.

I watched, entranced, as the two men worked. It looked more like practiced grace, a well-rehearsed show, which I suppose it was. But what was better was the way it made me feel. Standing here watching man and horse work together in unison reminded me of my childhood, on the farm with my grandparents. Witnessing my grandfather break a horse with a loving but firm hand.

"Those are two of our best," Lucas said, coming to stand beside me. "The one on the brown horse is Dylan, and the other is Greg. When a rider is bucked from the bull, those two will ride in and lasso the bull if the rodeo clowns can't get the bull back to the pin. They are the last resort so the bull doesn't hurt or kill anyone."

I jerked my head to look at him. "That's possible? For a bull to kill a rider?"

"Yes." He smiled as if amused with my naivety. "But it doesn't happen nearly as often as you'd think, and they're part of the reason why." He nodded toward the two men in the ring.

I placed my hand over my racing heart. "My God, Lucas. Aren't you afraid of that happening to you?" I couldn't fathom doing a job day in and day out that had such a high risk of death.

He turned his body to me and caressed my cheek with his hand. I leaned into his touch, loving how warm and gentle it was. I allowed my eyes to flutter closed momentarily, simply enjoying the tender moment.

"I'm a lot more careful then most bull riders."

"How so?" I asked, opening my eyes to meet his gaze.

"You learn to develop a relationship with the bull, and like any animal, you become attuned to its mannerisms. If I feel it getting ready to move a certain way, I counter it. But if I can feel it being overly ornery, I will let it buck me and get the hell out of the ring." He laughed. "Not all riders will do that. They'll try to ride the meanest bull just to show how good they are."

"It all still sounds very dangerous."

"I'm sure some of the guys are doing practice rides right now. Want to go watch?" He said.

The excitement in his voice, the sparkle in his eyes reminded me of the look a child got when I handed them a lollipop after getting an exam. I laughed, unable to control myself. "Yeah, I'd love to." I finally responded.

Taking my hand again, we left the viewing room and across the lot to the other barn. This one wasn't as nice, but it was just as big. It smelled a lot worse, too. My grandfather had a bull once, to the behest of my grandmother, and the thing was always relieving himself. This barn brought on that memory. I made a face, which Lucas noticed and laughed.

"I should've warned you about the smell. I'm sorry." He gave my hand a squeeze. "I guess I'm just so used to it that I didn't think..."

"It's okay. I grew up around animals. It's been years since I've been near any though, so this is nice."

"What kind of animals?" He asked inquisitively.

"Horses, cows, chickens, pigs, and lots of cats and dogs. My grandfather taught me all about them."

"My grandfather is the one who first introduced me to horses, and then bulls. He dabbled in bull riding, but mostly for fun and when his friends would bet him he couldn't stay on longer than them." Lucas said with a laugh. "He's the reason I love the rodeo so much."

Unlike the horse barn, this one didn't have a private viewing room. The practice ring was located behind the barn in the open field. We stood near the reinforced wooden fence that comprised the ring. Lucas rested his arms on top of the fence, and I tentatively reached out to grip it, unsure if the bull would come charging at us.

"Over there," he pointed to a gate located on the opposite side of the ring, "is where the rider mounts the bull. When the buzzer sounds, the gate is flung open, and the bull charges out. That up there," he pointed to a large time clock hanging on the side of the barn, "is the timer. The longer you can stay on, the more points you earn."

"What's the longest you've ever stayed on?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"Seven point two four seconds."

"Seconds?"

Lucas laughed. "It's a lot harder than it sounds. Watch." He nodded to the ring.

I turned and the buzzer sounded. God, that was loud. Just as Lucas said, the bull came charging out of the gate, he jumped and bucked, trying to dislodge its unwanted rider. Looking up, I noted the clock was moving rapidly, counting out the seconds the man remained on the bull. My heart raced as the numbers ticked higher and higher.

"Is there a record for your rodeo?" I asked.

He nodded. "Billy currently holds the record at ten point six four seconds."

"Wow." I said as I turned my gaze back to the bull rider, adrenaline spiking through my body. Simply watching was exhilarating. I couldn't begin to imagine what it must be like to be in that ring doing that.

A moment later, the man was thrown from the bull. He was on his feet and running toward the fence, jumping over it to safety before the bull could reach him. I clapped loudly, impressed with the show.

"That's incredible," I said in awe.

"We're having another live show next week. You should come and watch me ride." He turned so his back was to the fence.

I couldn't deny the short show I'd just seen was amazing, but could I watch Lucas do that? What if he got hurt again? How could I ever sit by and watch something happen to him. Although, it was an invitation to see him again, and that wasn't something I could say no to. I smiled.

"Yeah, okay. You don't mind if I bring my sister along, do you?"

"Not at all." He pushed off the fence. "Care to take a walk?"

I nodded, and we walked hand in hand away from the bull riding ring and into the open fields behind it. The grounds were well tended to, but the further they got from the barns, the darker it became. The illumination from the moon and stars wasn't enough to fully bathe them in light, but it did wonders for setting the mood.

"It's beautiful out here," I said.

"Not as beautiful as you." Lucas put his arm around my waist and winked. I realized he said that every time I commented on the beauty of something. I hoped he didn't think I was phishing for compliments.

"My sisters and I used to play in fields like this when we were kids. We'd pretend we were stranded in the middle of nowhere and we'd wait for prince charming to rescue us." I laughed, remembering how adamant I used to be about having a cowboy on a brown and white horse rescuing me.

He stopped walking and tugged me to him, wrapping his arms around me. My breath hitched, but I didn't attempt to pull away. His arms felt too good, his body too strong and safe against mine. I rested my hands on his biceps and looked up into his handsome face.

"Do you still dream of prince charming coming to your rescue?" he asked, a faint smile playing across his face.

"He already has," I whispered, feeling empowered by the intensity of the moment.

Lucas lowered his head, his mouth aligning with mine, and then his tongue grazed over my lips, parting them. I dragged my hands up his arms, over his shoulders, and around to the back of his neck, welcoming his kiss. It was tentative at first, but then became a little harder, more self-assured, deeper. His arms tightened around me, bringing me so close to him I wasn't sure where I ended and he began. I moaned softly, never wanting the kiss to end. And he must've felt the same way because he kissed me so long I was left gasping for breath when he finally tore his lips from mine.

"I want to see you again, Rebecca." He said, with bated breath.

All I could do was nod in agreement.

# Chapter Seven

Sisters

I carried the final moving box inside and set it on the kitchen floor. Wiping the dust from my hands, I looked around and smiled. "This is a really great place, Michelle."

"It's so small," she complained.

I refrained from rolling my eyes. It was my only day off this week, and I was helping my sister finish moving and unpacked, so she could stop sleeping on Mom and Dad's couch. Yet, all she could seem to do was complain. I knew firsthand how hard it was to live alone, how long and lonely the nights could be, but this situation was a hundred times better than the one she was leaving behind.

"Yes, it might be small, but it's all yours. You don't have to share anything with anyone," I said as cheerfully as possible, hoping it might make her feel better.

Michelle flopped down on the couch, which was placed haphazardly in the middle of the living room, and sighed heavily. "Yeah, it will be nice not to be constantly picking up after that bum and tripping over his stupid shoes. I swear he owns more pairs than I do."

I laughed, happy to see Michelle's mood pick up so easily. I sat beside her, surveying the dozens of boxes littered throughout the apartment. It was going to take forever to unpack everything. She'd asked me to cook for her and bake my special chocolate chip walnut cookies, I was afraid we'd never find the proper utensils or ingredients in time.

"We should probably start with the kitchen first if you expect me to cook for you."

Nodding, Michelle said, "Yeah...or we could just order in, save both of us headaches."

"Oh, that would be wonderful." I concurred before resting my head on the back of the couch and momentarily closing my eyes.

I hadn't gotten much sleep last night. After Lucas dropped me off, he called and we spend a few hours on the phone. Once we did finally hang up, I couldn't stop smiling or thinking about him, about that kiss. Even now I could feel his lips on mine, feel his arms around me, holding me. I sighed dreamily.

"What's got you floating around on cloud nine?" The sharp voice of my sister said, cutting the air.

I lifted my head and looked at my sister, knowing she was going to freak out as soon as I told her. She was always on my case to start dating again, but I'd never really had any interest – until. "I had a date with Lucas last night."

Her eyes widened and she sat up straighter, turning toward me and crossing her legs beneath her. "The sexy bull rider from the hospital you told me about?"

I nodded. "Yup, that's him. Lucas Hudson. Even his name is sexy, don't you think?"

Michelle laughed. "Uh, yeah! So, tell me all about it, and don't leave out a single detail."

For the next half an hour, I detailed my date to her, telling her everything. When it came to the part of the date when he kissed me, I glossed over it. It wasn't because I didn't trust her with the information, I did, but for the time being, I wanted to keep it kind of private, something special between just me and Lucas. I should've known she wouldn't let it slide though.

"Whoa. He kissed you? And you let him?"

"Of course I let him." I gave her an odd look, annoyed with the fact she had this misconception I was some sort of prude when it came to men and physical contact. Granted, that's how I'd lived for the past several months, but what she didn't know was just how much I'd missed the touch of a man, the companionship that came with being in a relationship.

She laughed. "Sorry, no reason to get defensive. So, how was it? Are you going to see him again?"

"It was the single best kiss of my entire life," I said, letting the memory of it consume me once again. God, what I wouldn't give to have him here right now kissing me.

"Aw, Becca." Michelle said as she leaned forward and hugged me. It was nice to know that no matter what life threw at her, how low she was in life at the moment, she could put all that aside and be happy for me. And I could do the same for her. "That's great." She smiled. "So, when's your next date?"

My heart raced at the mere mention of seeing him again. "Well, he's performing with the rodeo next weekend and asked me to come watch. He said I could bring you along if you wanted to go."

"Hell yeah, I do!" She laughed. "I need to meet the man who brought my sister out of her self-imposed solitude and put that rosy glow back in her cheeks."

As much as I loved her, Michelle could be so dramatic at times.

"He said he wanted to see me again, but we haven't actually made another date." I continued.

I frowned at that realization. It's not like he'd be around forever so why hadn't he made plans with me? I couldn't read too much into it. Maybe he wanted to see if I would follow through on my promise to watch him ride. Or maybe he'd only been being nice after our kiss, unsure what else to say, so he blurted that out in the heat of the moment. Guys did things like that all the time, didn't they? Say they'd call or that they should go out again, but then disappear off the face of the earth?

Lucas wasn't like that. I had to believe that. He was too much of a gentleman. I'm sure he was just busy with the rodeo and other responsibilities. He did grow up in Covanta after all. He was probably visiting with his family and friends. I couldn't fault him for that. Family had always been the most important thing to me, and it was high on my list of attractive attributes.

"He wants to have kids, you know," I said, standing and preparing to start unpacking.

"He told you that?" My sister responded.

"Yeah." I laughed. "We talked about so much last night, Michelle. He loves the rodeo and clearly doesn't want to give that up yet, but he was very clear about his desire to someday settle down and start a family."

"I don't think I've ever met a man, let alone been on a first date with one, who openly talked about the future and a family like that. He sounds like a keeper, Becca."

I paused with a stack of bowls in my hands. A keeper. I sighed. Yeah, he was definitely a keeper, long term boyfriend and husband material. I'd known that after talking to him in the hospital that night.

"Too bad he's leaving in a few weeks to go back on the road," I said, sadness clouding my voice, as I made my way into the kitchen to put the bowls in the cabinet.

Michelle followed me into the room, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. "How long before he leaves?"

"A couple of weeks." I shrugged, not wanting to think about that inevitable day.

"So that gives you a few weeks to change his mind." Michelle smiled triumphantly as if she'd just figured out a big, first world problem.

A short laugh escaped me. "Yeah, right. I have no intention of trying to convince him to stay. The rodeo is his life, his dream, his career. I can't be that selfish, Michelle."

"No, maybe not, but you can get him to fall in love with you...if he isn't already." She winked and pushed off the frame, walking toward me. "I know firsthand how hard and sucky long distance relationships can be, but if you two really like each other, there's no reason this can't work. Like you said, he's not going to be with the rodeo forever."

"No, he's not," I shook my head, conceding to that point. "But how do I know he won't meet someone else in the next town he stops in? Or that he doesn't already have several girlfriends scattered across the country?"

Michelle sighed. "Do you really believe that?" When I didn't answer, she said, "I didn't think so."

"I don't know." I shrugged. "I'm probably getting way ahead of myself here. It was just one date. For all I know, it meant nothing to him."

"Well, for what it's worth, I think you need to keep an open mind about this. Don't let something like his job sway you." My sister summarized with a level headed approach that was normally only reserved for me.

The tone of her voice made my stomach twist. She sounded way too much like our Mom, and I would've told her that, if I knew it wouldn't start a big disagreement. Michelle hated it when people pointed out how similar she was to our mother. It was the quickest and easiest way to offend her, which isn't something I wanted to do, but the truth of it smacked me in the face.

We spent the next several hours unpacking and organizing, working in comfortable silence most of the time, and when we did talk, it was about where things were going to go and decorating ideas for the apartment. As the day progressed, I could see Michelle's excitement building. This was the first time she'd ever been on her own and not living with parents or a boyfriend. I remembered how scared I was when I first moved out on my own. Thankfully, I had the support of Michelle, and I was determined to return the favor. I wanted her to succeed.

"I say we grab some food," Michelle said, glancing at her cell phone to check the time. "It's almost five."

"Sounds good. I'm starving. Do you just want to have a pizza delivered, or do you want to go somewhere and get something?" I asked.

"Pizza is fine. I'm not leaving the house looking like this." She held her arms out to her sides and looked down at her ratty, dust covered clothes.

I suppressed a smile. "Okay, I'll order it. Want our usual? Extra cheese, sausage and peppers?"

"Yes, and be sure to get some garlic knots, too!"

I laughed. I'd skipped having garlic bread last night because I didn't want to have bad breath should Lucas have kissed me. It was a good call on my part, but tonight I didn't have to worry about that, so I planned to order double. Garlic knots from the local pizza shop were among my favorite. In fact, I liked them so much, I found a recipe to make them myself.

Retrieving my cell phone from my purse, I swiped my thumb across the screen and was pleasantly surprised to find a voicemail and three text messages – all from Lucas. Actually, giddy was probably a better word. I was giddy. I read the text messages first.

Thinking of you.

_Wish I was with you right now instead of with a group of sweaty dudes._ That one made me laugh out loud.

I miss you, Rebecca.

Then I played the voicemail, which I guessed – correctly – was from him. "Hey, Rebecca. Just taking a quick break and thought I'd give you a call since you haven't responded to a single one of my texts. Or maybe you're just trying to tell me something." He chuckled. "I really do want to see you again. Give me a call so we can make another date."

I sighed, clutching the phone to my chest as if that would somehow bring me closer to him. Then I typed back a quick text response: _helping my sister move and get settled. Will call later this evening. I miss you, too._ As I pressed send, I couldn't remember a time when I'd felt so happy, and I wanted this feeling to last forever.

# Chapter Eight

Special Trip

It had been almost three weeks since my first official date with Lucas, and we'd spent as much time together as we could. My days off were devoted to him, and even on the days I had to work, we'd try to sneak in a meal together as often as we could. And last week, when I had to pull double shifts for four days in a row, he'd driven all the way from Covanta just to spend my breaks with me. I never realized sitting in a hospital cafeteria eating bad food could be so much fun. Then again, any time I spent with Lucas was fun.

He'd gotten into the habit of kissing me every single time he saw me now, and that was one of the best parts of seeing him. His kisses were addictive, and I was beginning to want more – a lot more. And that kind of terrified me because nothing had changed: He was still leaving. I wasn't sure I could give myself to a man in that way, and then have him leave me. It would break me.

As it was, I was already falling in love with him, something I promised myself I wouldn't do for this very reason. But here I was, hopelessly in love with Lucas Hudson. I sighed and finished packing the baked goods I'd made into the cooler.

Yesterday, Lucas had invited me out to his grandfather's ranch, which he'd been helping out at during his stay in Covanta. It's how he spent his time when he wasn't with me. I felt bad every time he left his family to be with me, though. I knew he didn't get to see them very often, and I didn't want to become one of those women who tears a guy from all of his family and friends. But every time I bring it up, he assures me it's not a big deal, that his family understands and only wants him to be happy.

I double checked to make sure I had everything I needed, and then I loaded up my car and pulled out of my driveway. Lucas had offered to pick me up, but it was silly for him to drive down here to get me only to drive back to Covanta. Plus, I was looking forward to the silence of making the drive alone. I was so conflicted about my feelings for Lucas. Okay, maybe that wasn't exactly accurate. I knew how I felt about him. I think I loved him. But I was struggling with whether I should tell him that or not. I turned up the radio and picked up a little bit of speed.

****

"You made it!" Lucas beamed as I got out of the car and made my way up the crazy long driveway.

He walked toward me, and I could tell by the twinkle in his eyes what he was planning. As soon as I was close enough, he wrapped me in a strong hug, his lips landing on mine in a soft, teasing kiss. Every single time he kissed me like that, my heart melted. My body would ignite with need. My breaths would become short, ragged pants that made me want to beg for more just so I could experience him stealing all breath from me.

"Did you really think I'd miss this?" I asked, pressing my palms to his chest, loving how solid and warm it was beneath my touch.

He shrugged. "I often worry you're becoming sick of me."

I laughed and shook my head. "Trust me, Lucas, that's not going to happen."

Smiling, he took my hand, lacing our fingers. "Good because you'd have a really hard time getting rid of me." He said smiling as we walked toward the house.

Correction: the mansion. At least, that's what it looked like to me anyway. It was a four story brick masterpiece that loomed high above the trees that surrounded it. Gorgeous pillars adorned the front of the house, and a rose covered lattice comprised one side of the house. I looked up, taking in the full sight, and realized there were stained glass windows in the cupolas that sat atop the main roof.

"Wow, Lucas, this place is gorgeous." I slowed my steps just so I could stare at it in awe a bit longer.

Noticing what I was doing, Lucas stopped walking and stood behind me. He put his arms around me, resting his chin on my shoulder. "This was my grandmother's dream house. My grandfather had it built for her as a ten year wedding anniversary gift. They'd lived in a rat infested apartment for years just so he could save enough to make the down payment to the builders. That's how she always told the story anyway." Lucas chuckled.

"That's so romantic," I whispered. I wondered what it would be like to have a man be so in love with me that he'd go to such great lengths to make me happy. Would I ever know love like that? Or was it just a silly fantasy?

Lucas softly kissed my cheek, then that sensitive spot right behind my ear. I suppressed a shudder as delicious sensations ricocheted through my body. "A few years after the house was finished, they built the barns and filled them with horses."

"I love horses. My grandfather taught me to ride as soon as I was able to walk." I laughed, looking at him over my shoulder. No matter how often I saw him, his handsome, striking features always stunned me.

"You know how to ride?" He asked.

"Yeah, but it has been a long time."

He grinned. "Good because we're going to take a stroll over the estate today."

Excitement bubbled up in my stomach, and I was powerless to stop it. "Really?" I turned so I was facing him, my hands resting on his shoulders. "I haven't been riding in so long."

"That's okay." He enveloped me in another hug. "I have the perfect mare for you to ride. She's gentle, takes direction well." He brushed his nose against mine. "Unless you just want to ride with me." There was that familiar, mischievous glint to his expression.

"As tempting as that is, I'm really excited to get on a horse again." I told him.

"Whatever you want, sweetheart." Giving the tip of my nose a kiss, he once again took my hand, and we headed back toward the house. "Did you bring the goodies?"

"Yes." I laughed. Lucas had become rather enthralled with my baking skills, and there wasn't a day that went by that I didn't have something sweet waiting for him.

"Good. I packed a picnic lunch for us. There's this great little pond near the edge of the property. I thought we could stop there and have something to eat."

"Sounds wonderful." I said with a smile.

An hour later, Lucas brought his horse, Jackson, to a stop near the pond he'd mentioned earlier. I brought Daisy to a stop beside them, admiring the view. Not only of the surrounding view of nature, but of Lucas. He was good on a horse, a natural. I'd seen him ride at the rodeo, but there was something different about seeing him ride today. It's like he was more relaxed, at peace with everything around him.

He dismounted and tied Jackson to a nearby tree, giving the horse enough length to reach the pond and drink from it. Then Lucas helped me off Daisy and tied her up the same way. "So, what do you think?" he asked.

"Breathtaking," I said. "Really, Lucas, I can see why your grandmother loved it here so much. God, if I lived here I don't think I'd ever leave." I chuckled. "It really is no wonder your grandfather can't bear to part with it, and I hope he never does."

"He's offered it to me, you know?"

"He has?" My eyebrows rose in shock.

Lucas nodded and began to spread out a blanket on the ground. "Yeah. He's told me more than once that if I buy this place from him, it can stay in the family, and I can stay away from the rodeo." He grabbed the picnic basket and set it down; then motioned for me to sit beside him.

"I thought he supported your rodeo career." I said as I sat beside Lucas.

"He does." He put his arm around me, pulling me close. I put my head on his shoulder. "But as his only grandchild, he worries."

I sat in stunned silence, trying to process what Lucas had just said. If he had the opportunity to buy this place, and he didn't, then he must really love the rodeo. In that moment, any lingering – albeit farfetched – hope I had about him suddenly deciding to give up life on the road to stay here with me were dashed. Lucas was a rodeo man. No one or nothing could ever change that.

"I can understand that," I said, "about him worrying. It's not like you're in the safest profession."

Lucas squeezed me closer to him and kissed the top of my head. "No, but just like my grandfather couldn't give this place up, I can't give up bull riding. It's in my blood."

"Yeah."

We fell silent for a few moments, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I stared at the pond, mesmerized by how serene and peaceful it was. There were two ducks in the water, floating around as if they didn't have a care in the world. They probably didn't.

"Hungry?" Lucas asked after a while.

I straightened and smiled. "A little."

I watched as he unpacked the basket, memorizing everything about him from the way his fingers worked to pop the cork on the bottle of wine he'd packed, to the way his muscles tensed then relaxed with each movement he made. I noticed the way the light breeze tousled his hair, and he'd absently reach up to push it out of his eyes; and the way he'd twist his mouth into contemplation as he worked.

And I had the sudden urge to cry.

How would I ever be able to say goodbye to him? In such a short period of time, he'd stolen me, heart and soul. Tears stung the back of my throat, and I swallowed against them, not wanting to ruin this perfect moment he'd created for us. No. I could wait until I got home later and cry in the privacy of my own room. I would grieve for the impending loss of Lucas on my own time, alone.

"To us," he said, raising his glass.

"Us," I agreed, barely able to choke out the words. No matter how short lived 'us' really is.

# Chapter Nine

Night Sky

After a lovely lunch and a lot of stolen kisses, Lucas suggested we ride a bit more. I think we travelled the entire expanse of the estate by the time he motioned for us to stop. We were in front of what appeared to be an abandoned barn, yet it looked like it had been fully maintained. It was weird it was so far away from the main house and all the other barns. But I didn't question Lucas about it. I was having way too much fun just being with him.

He dismounted, and I did the same – without his help this time – and then he gathered a blanket from the saddle bag. It was the same blanket we'd sat on for our picnic.

"Follow me," he said.

We entered through a small side door that creaked when Lucas opened it, and for a moment I was afraid it would fall off its hinges. I looked around, amazed there was so much fresh hay inside. For being unused, I didn't expect it to be so...clean. During my visual perusal, I noticed an open skylight pretty cool.

Lucas spread the blanket out on top of the hay, directly below the skylight. "I thought maybe we could just watch the stars for a while. They're starting to come out."

I smiled. "That would be lovely."

He settled on the blanket, and I lay next to him, both of us on our backs, staring up at the darkening evening sky. Our silence was comfortable, which was refreshing, and I allowed my mind to wander places I hadn't let it go before: the dream of a future with Lucas. Marriage. Children. Making love to him every night. I sighed and closed my eyes.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"No." I turned my head so I was facing him. "Everything is absolutely perfect."

He gave me that same sexy smile that made my knees weak the first night I'd met him, and I rolled onto my side. Lucas did the same, his arm going around my waist and pulling me closer, so close our bodies were pressed together. And then he kissed me. Softly at first, then a bit harder until I felt like my whole body was on fire, and he was devouring me. We'd kissed a lot, but never like this, never with so much passion I thought I'd overdose on it.

"You're absolutely perfect," he said, smiling against my lips.

I chuckled, tracing the curve of his cheek, the angle of his jaw. "Thank you for everything, Lucas. These past few weeks have been amazing."

"Yes, they have." He gently guided me onto my back and brought his body over mine. "And they're about to get a hell of a lot better." He said. His grin was wicked, his intentions clear.

I had no intentions or desire to stop him. I wanted this just as much as he did, and damn it, if I had to let him go soon, I was going to have something to remember him by, something I could recall during the long, lonely nights.

Lucas slanted his mouth over mine and kissed me slowly, softly, savoring every second of our embrace. And then he slipped his hand up under the hem of my shirt, his strong, calloused hand grazing over my belly button, causing me to shudder. Goose bumps erupted on my skin when he traced lazy circles around my stomach and ribs. Kissing him like this seared my senses, and I couldn't feel anything other than his body melded against mine, his tongue twisting and turning around mine. And I couldn't taste anything other than the sweet, sugary remnants of fruit on his lips. He tasted and felt heavenly.

I pushed him over onto his back and flung my leg over his waist, straddling him. He looked momentarily surprised, but then his hands landed on my hips, and he held me as I leaned down to claim his lips. I'd never been what anyone would call sexually aggressive, and I really didn't consider what I was doing right now overly aggressive, but I did get a rush from taking control like this. And Lucas didn't seem to mind in the least.

Pulling away, I reached for his shirt, tugging it out from the waist band of his jeans, and then I began to unbutton it, my fingernails grazing along his bare skin each time another button was undone. Every time I did, his stomach would hollow and he'd inhale sharply. He made no move to stop me though. In fact, when my hands fumbled around his waist, trying to yank the back of his shirt free from his pants, he lifted just enough to make that possible. I guided his shirt from his shoulders and was struck by how gorgeous his chest was. I mean, I knew he was muscular, but good God, those muscles should be labeled a deadly sin.

I trailed my fingers down the length of his upper body, noting how soft the light dusting of hair on his chest and stomach was. Then I leaned down and kissed his chest. He groaned, which only empowered me more. I moved down his body, kissing as I went. The feel of his hard body beneath my lips burnt me alive. He gripped my shoulders, and I looked up at him under my lashes. His eyes were closed, his mouth parted on a sigh. I dragged my mouth up his stomach and chest, nipping at his neck and jaw before plunging my tongue into his mouth, kissing him with a ferocity that made it nearly impossible for me to stay still.

I wanted him.

I would have him.

I once again slid down his body, flicking the button on his jeans open, and then slowly pulling his zipper down. My gaze was on him, desperate to know if he was okay with this, if he was upset in any way that I'd decided to take control like this.

He rolled his eyes and moaned. "Rebecca," he said.

My heart was racing so damn fast I fought to breathe. I looked up at him with a sultry smile moments before pulling his thick, hard flesh from the confines of his jeans and wrapping my slender fingers around his shaft.

Lucas looked down at me and watched as I took him into my mouth. He was so big, my cheeks and lips stretched to an almost uncomfortable degree, but the taste of him far outweighed any mild discomfort I had. Besides, once I did this for a little while, it would be so bad. I just had to allow my body time to adjust to him.

He reached down, gathering my hair and holding it away from my face. "Fuck," he groaned, drawing out the word.

I slowly drew back until nothing but my tongue rested on the underside of the head, and then I licked over it with erotic hunger. Down his shaft and up again. From the way he was panting now, I had to assume he liked it. No man had ever tasted as good to me as he did. I wanted to stay like this with him forever, to shut out the entire world, ignore everyone and everything, and just have it be the two of us.

"Oh God, yeah." His eyes rolled back as I drew him into my mouth again, cupping his sack in my hand. "Rebecca, baby, I'm gonna come," he warned me. I sucked him harder for a moment, unsure if I wanted to actually let him come in my mouth, but he made that decision for me when he pulled out of my mouth and guided my lips back to his.

"Lucas," I breathed out his name as his mouth crushed mine.

"That was..." He shook his head. "I have no words, but now, it's my turn." He winked.

I held my breath, knowing full well what his intentions were. Panic seized me, and I opened my mouth to tell him no, but I couldn't get the word to form. I swallowed hard, reminding myself that this was Lucas, and he'd never do anything to hurt me. Yet, I couldn't quite let that thought alone settle my nerves. My eyes widened, and I shook my head back and forth.

Lucas's hands stroked up my legs, his fingers deftly working the button on my jeans. The sound of my zipper being pulled down echoed around the barn.

"Lucas," I whispered, my voice wavering. I couldn't stop myself. I wanted him to know. He deserved to know.

He stopped and looked at me. "Don't tell me you've never..."

"No," I said. "No one has ever..." I could feel the heat rise on my cheeks, and I silently cursed myself for blushing so badly.

Lucas refused to hide his smile as he brought his mouth to mine and gave me a tender reassuring kiss. "Are you a virgin, Rebecca?"

"No," I whispered, "but I've never had anyone..." I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling very foolish, "perform oral on me."

He chuckled, giving me another kiss. "Trust me."

I nodded and he slowly removed my jeans and panties before finding my mouth again. I braced myself on my hands and let my head fall back to my shoulders as he nipped and licked his way down my body, removing my shirt as he went. The cool night air blew across my now naked body, hardening my nipples.

"So beautiful," he crooned as he inched closer to my thighs, and I couldn't stop myself from watching him, mesmerized by the sight of his head, with that gorgeous soft hair, between my legs.

Lucas lifted my right leg, bending it so my foot was flat on the blanket and kissed his way toward the apex of my thighs. He repeated this on my left leg. I had no idea what to expect, but the anticipation was killing me. He put his hand on my stomach and gently guided me back so I was lying flat, keeping his head tucked between my legs.

"Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do this?" he said, stroking his thumb over my now throbbing lips, holding my butt still so that I couldn't move away from him. Not that I wanted to.

All the air rushed out of my lungs, and I was left gasping at the feel of Lucas's mouth on my swollen, needy nub. He kissed it, sucked it into his mouth, drew it out, released it, and then flicked his tongue over it. I dug my heels into the hay, bracing myself against the rush of sensations that flooded over me. "Oh, God, yes!" I cried as his tongue played with me, dipping inside me, stoking the already raging fire between my legs.

Lucas let go of my butt and ran his hands along the inside of my legs, spreading them open. I hadn't even realized I'd closed them around his head. It was a reflex to the intense sensations coursing through my veins. His fingers parted my folds, and his tongue licked up one side of my lips and down the other. My hips came up off the ground, and my hands bunched in his hair holding him to me.

It was so good I didn't think it could get any better. Or rather, if it did get any better, I knew I would never survive it. Then he slid a finger or two inside of me, his thumb applying just the right amount of pressure to the bundle of nerves he'd so skillfully teased with his tongue moments earlier, his tongue working me into a frenzy of bucks and moans.

"Lucas," I moaned as I came around his fingers. My orgasm was all-consuming, making my face go numb, my eyes burst with vibrant flashes of light, my legs tremble uncontrollably as he eased his fingers out of me, and my entire body quivered. I don't recall a time I've ever came so hard or fast.

He feathered kisses up my body, lingering on the indentation of my waist and hipbone before climbing over me, putting his palms flat on either side of my head. I sat up on my elbows and looked into his eyes. They were darker than I'd ever seen them before. It was a seething look of desire.

Desire for me!

"Make love to me, Lucas," I whispered.

# Chapter Ten

Night Of Ecstasy

"God, I thought you'd never ask." Lucas chuckled as he fumbled in his jeans pocket, retrieving a condom.

I watched as he finished removing his clothing, happy he'd planned for this possibility, but also a little shocked he was so prepared. I bit down on my bottom lip, enjoying the view of his fully naked body, which was absolutely glorious! As soon as he had the condom on, he leaned over me, finding my lips and kissing them softly. My entire body was buzzing and humming and tingling with anticipation. I wanted Lucas so badly while at the same time, I was a little scared.

Lucas spread my legs with his knees and settled between them. Then he captured my lips again and kissed me, nipping at my bottom lip, sucking on it in an erotic way that had me pushing my hips up into him. He put his hand on my waist, holding me still. "Rebecca, honey, I don't want to rush this."

I groaned with frustration. I didn't want to rush, but I didn't want to wait too much longer either. "Fine, but don't tease me too long." I said as I trailed my fingers down his muscular arms and around his back. He shuddered beneath my touch, and I smiled. "Please make love to me, Lucas."

He left my lips and kissed down my neck, causing me to shudder. "Are you rushing this?" He chuckled softly as he continued his descent down my body. I really didn't want to rush him because I wanted this to last as long as possible. However, we'd both waited so long already; I couldn't bear to wait a moment longer. Besides, we were running out of time to be together, and I wanted to be able to spend our last few days together just like this: entwined in each other's arms, exploring one another's bodies, making love.

Lucas found my lips once more, kissing me until my lips went numb. Then he made another slow descent down my body, his lips leaving tiny, searing kisses on my skin. I wanted to shout at him to keep going while at the same time I wanted to demand he take me right now.

I reached down and threaded my hands into his hair, luxuriating in how soft the strands felt between my fingers. Then I felt his mouth close around one of my nipples and it was like an electric shot straight to my core. "Oh, God, Lucas." I said, wiggling beneath him, desperate for the teasing to end and for the real pleasure to begin. I needed him worse than I needed my next breath.

"I want you on top," he whispered as he dragged his mouth back to mine. His erection was prominent as it rested between my legs.

I didn't know why that took me by surprise, but it did. Didn't guys generally like to be on top during sex? But I guess I should've known. Lucas wasn't anything like all the other guys I'd met.

"Okay," I mumbled against his lips. Next thing I knew, Lucas rolled us over so that I was on top. I half yelped half laughed in surprise.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said, kneading my butt in his hands.

"Okay," I said breathlessly. The thought of it hurting had occurred to me the moment I saw the size of him, but I wanted this, him, so much, I knew I wouldn't make him stop no matter what.

He reached down and grabbed his shaft, positioning it into my opening, and then very gently, he eased into me. Then he stopped. "Take as little or as much as you want, Rebecca. Make it feel good for you." He said, rotating his hips ever so slightly, just enough so that I felt the movement.

So that's why he insisted I was on top: to let me lead, let me set the pace to whatever was comfortable and pleasurable for me. It was probably the sweetest, most unselfish thing any man had ever done for me during sex.

"Lucas." I moaned as I put my hands on either side of his head and stared at him. His eyes were hazy and filled with desire. It was that look that was my undoing. A seductive smile pulled at my mouth.

"You're killing me, baby." He groaned. His grip on my waist had tightened, and I knew he was having a hard time not moving.

I smiled as I lowered myself down onto him, wincing slightly as I did. He was definitely bigger than anyone I'd ever been with before, but he also felt a hundred times better. I found his lips and kissed him hard as I rotated my hips on him, driving him deeper into me with each slow downward motion of my body. "God, Lucas," I groaned.

He nipped at my bottom lip. "You feel so good, Rebecca." His hands found my butt again and he squeezed my cheeks, guiding me up and down on him with skilled precision, never allowing me to go too fast or too hard even though that's exactly what I wanted to do.

But our need for each other was too great and from the way he clutched my body and grit his teeth, I guessed he agreed. Digging his heels into the hay, he tightened his grip on me, and thrust into me hard and fast for a few moments, causing me to cry out. The sounds of our moans echoed through the empty barn. Lucas hugged me to him, and then rolled us over, putting him on top of me.

I was so close to coming already, and now having the full weight of his body on top of mine, feeling how he moved in and out of me, the way he held onto me as if he were afraid I would suddenly disappear, the way he kissed me with so much hunger, moaning in between our kisses was incredible.

"Baby, you feel incredible. I've wanted you from the moment I saw you." He said, kissing me, his tongue invading my mouth with a frantic desperation that I matched stroke for stroke.

"Yeah," I moaned. I curled my fingers against his biceps, my nails digging into his skin as he pushed all the way into me. I cried out, his name falling from my lips as if in prayer. The feel of Lucas inside of me, stretching me to a new level of pleasure I never knew existed, driving me to madness was euphoric. This one time wasn't ever going to be enough. Hell no! I wanted to spend the rest of tonight and every night for the rest of my life with him.

"I can't get enough of you." He said, grabbing me, bringing me to a sitting position so that we were chest to chest. I hooked my legs around his back, putting my arms around his neck, and then I rocked on him as our mouths explored each other like it was the first time we'd ever kissed.

His pace was slow, deliberate, and soft. I leaned back and guided Lucas's mouth to my breast. I gasped, ready to explode from the feelings he brought out in me. How could someone I'd never been with before know exactly how to touch me, how to bring me to life in this way? He slid his hands from my lower back up to my shoulder blades, bringing me to an upright position again, and finding my lips. But he didn't kiss me. He teased me – something I was learning he liked to do. Not that I was complaining.

"Kiss me," I demanded. He did, and the world exploded around me. My mind went fuzzy; and the only thing I could focus on was the feel of Lucas inside of me, of my desire to hold him there forever. Our pace increased, my body rocking on his harder and faster as my moans became progressively louder. I could feel him swelling inside of me, and I knew he was on the brink of release with me.

"Yeah," he crooned, "come for me, baby," he whispered, nipping at my ear.

I loved it when he called me baby or sweetheart or any other term of endearment. It made me feel special, like I was the only woman on earth in his eyes.

A moment later, I screamed his name and dropped my forehead to his shoulder, holding him tightly as we reached the crescendo of our climax, climbing the peak together, and then crashing down on the other side, still connected, still holding onto each other. It took several moments for the tremors to ease from my body, leaving me limp and spent. Lucas showered my shoulder and collarbone with kisses while I stroked the nape of his neck, holding on to him for as long as I could.

"That was incredible," he whispered, lowering me back down onto the hay. "You're incredible."

He kissed me and eased out of me, leaving me with an utterly empty feeling. I clung to him, not wanting him to leave me. "So are you," I said, tracing his lips with my tongue before he claimed my mouth as his.

Lucas rolled on to his back, bringing me over with him so that my head was on his chest. I draped my arm across his stomach, and his placed a kiss to the top of my head. They lay silently for several moments, and I couldn't help but wonder what he must be thinking. I dragged my fingers up and down his chest, loving how every so often he'd shudder or his stomach would hollow from the sensation.

His hold on me tightened, and he sighed heavily. "I found out today that the rodeo is moving out in a few days."

My hand froze, and the tips of my ears burned hot. A few days? I thought we'd at least have another week or two together. I wanted to cry. I wanted to beg him not to go. I wanted to scream how unfair this was.

"We're headed to Texas," he said as his hand began to rub my back, but it did nothing to calm the panic rising up in me.

I sighed, forced back the well of emotion that threatened to undo me. Folding my hands on his chest, I rested my chin on them, and looked at him. If he was leaving, I needed to memorize every single detail about him so I could remember him once he was gone.

"Say something, Rebecca."

"I don't want you to go," I blurted out.

A faint smile tugged at his lips. "If I could stay, I would. You know that, right?"

I gave an awkward shrug. No, I didn't really know that, but figured it wouldn't do any good to say that aloud.

"I don't want to be without you." Lucas said as he brought me further up his body so our lips were a breath's width apart. He traced my lips with his thumb. "Go with me, Rebecca."

"What?" I'd been so focused on what he said about not wanting to be without me, I must've missed something important because there was no way he just asked me to go with him.

"I want you to go on the road with me. You've said you always wanted to travel. This is your chance, and we can be together."

My heart raced. This was crazy. Yet, the thought of not being with him was unbearable. "Okay," I said, smiling, "I'll go with you."

### To be continued...

### Thank you for reading!

Please visit your favorite ebook retailer to view the next books in this series.

#  Cowboy Down Under

by

Ruth Bailey
Copyright © 2015 by Ruth Bailey

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cowboy Down Under

All rights reserved.

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. No part of this work may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording and faxing, or by any information storage and retrieval system by anyone but the purchaser for their own personal use.

This book may not be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of Ruth Bailey, except in the case of a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages for the sake of a review written for inclusions in a magazine, newspaper, or journal—and these cases require written approval from Ruth Bailey prior to publication. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

# Chapter One

Laura whistled to herself as she wandered into the kitchen. She'd just got back from a run, but didn't look particularly fatigued by it. In fact, she looked positively radiant in her tight aqua blue shorts, and a day-glow tank, which clung to a form that managed to be both athletic and feminine. Her long, sleek blonde locks were swept back in a ponytail, not a hair out of place. There was a slight gleam of sweat to her forehead as she shook the stiffness in her legs. Those, however, were the only hints that she'd been doing anything strenuous.

The most strenuous thing I'd done that morning was haul my exhausted butt out of bed. Barely able to hold my head up at the small kitchen table, I considered it a Herculean achievement to get the slice of toast from its plate to my mouth.

"Working last night?" she asked, with a sympathetic smile. She only flicked her eyes at me, though. Her focus was predominantly taken up with a small clutch of envelopes she held. One of her iPod's buds continued to pump Whitney Houston's 'I Wanna Dance With Somebody' in her left ear, the other dangled on her chest and told me not only what she was listening to, but also gave me an idea of how deaf she was going to become in her old age. Very deaf.

"Yeah," I muttered dejectedly, crunching on a piece of burnt crust. It wasn't that I hated waitressing, it was just that...No, scratch that, I did hate waitressing. There were no redeeming features to the job. The money was pitiful, the restaurant's patrons were rude, my boss spent most of his time leering at all the female waiting staff, and the chef had a temper that could rival Stalin's. It was all hideous. But there wasn't exactly a surplus of jobs around, and I desperately needed the small amount of cash I was earning.

"You need to get out more," she pointed out. "Meet some new people," she added, sifting through the mail absentmindedly. "Meet some new men."

That last addition was unnecessary. I knew well enough that 'people' had meant 'men'. "I'm too busy," I said around a mouthful of toast. "Besides, it's all too..." Faltering, I waved my half-eaten, charred bread around as I searched for the right word. "Raw," I eventually huffed.

"It's been six months," she pointedly noted, clasping one envelope between her thumb and forefinger and gracefully flicking it onto the table like a lightweight Frisbee. "For you," she succinctly told me.

Six months might have seemed like a long time to her. And, I suppose, it might _be_ a long time. But it didn't feel that way to me. Well, that's not quite true. It existed in a strange realm that didn't obey the normal rules of time and space. On one hand, it seemed like it only happened yesterday. On the other hand, it felt like a lifetime ago.

Hoping to let that topic die a natural death, I dropped my breakfast back on the plate and reached across the table. Picking up the envelope in crumby hands, I turned it over before ripping it open.

"It's about time you moved on," she added, unwilling apparently to let the matter drop. "Ya' know, get back on the horse and all that."

My eyes sticking fast to the motion of my hands as I grabbed hold of the edge of the letter and pulled, I made a noise that acknowledged I'd heard her, but which left no doubt that I was unimpressed by the notion.

"He's moved on, Faith," she added quietly.

"I know," I responded flatly. "If you think I'm wallowing and waiting for him to realize he's made a mistake, you're wrong."

It's something we'd talked about before, and it's an opinion I had been clear about. I wondered if she believed me, though. I guess, from the outside, my reluctance to even consider meeting someone new seemed like an unwillingness to move on. In reality, it was a reluctance to be hurt, and to complicate my life. Things were much simpler single.

Not looking up, I unfolded the piece of paper in my hands and immediately noted the Berkeley logo. It only took another couple of seconds to catch the word, 'sorry' and, at that point, I groaned.

"What's up?" Laura asked, tossing the rest of the mail on the counter and unclipping her iPod from her shorts.

"Dear Ms. Solano," I read aloud, "thank you for your application to enroll in our ancient history PhD program." Not bothering to finish, I toss the letter onto the table and turn my face to hers. "Blah, blah, blah."

Pursing her lips, she gave me a compassionate smile. "Which one?" she asked.

"Berkeley," I sulkily mumbled.

"Sorry," she sighed. Methodically winding the cable of her headphones, she wore a somber expression as she chewed her bottom lip. "So, what does that leave?"

"That's it," I replied, picking up my toast only to tap its corner on the rim of the plate. "That's the last one." Disheartened and disgusted, I abandoned the thought of eating and pushed myself out of the chair. "It's a big, fat 'no' from Stanford, Yale, Brown and now Berkeley."

"Well, what are you gonna do?" she asked quietly.

Tossing both hands theatrically in the air, I shook my head. "I don't know," I grumbled. "Get used to serving ribs, I guess," I added sardonically.

"There must be other programs that have extended deadlines," she contended. One of the things I've always loved about Laura is that she's never entertained my self-pity. She was an expert at wrangling me in from my childish mood swings.

I wiped the disappointed look from my face, but shook my head. "I think I'm gonna have to wait until next year," I stated with resignation. "Maybe it's for the best," I added, trying to find a bright side. "I was going to struggle to afford it. This will give me a chance to save." That was all very true, but I couldn't pretend to feel good about the prospect of another twelve months at the restaurant.

"I thought your parents said they'd help," she argued, her faultless memory recalling my mom's visit nine weeks earlier.

"They did," I agreed, "but I don't want to mooch off of them." Running my hands through my light brown hair, which hadn't even seen a brush that morning, I released a deep sigh. "It's fine," I assured her, forcing myself to man up. "Everything will work out fine. Another year won't kill me."

She knew how much I hated that place, and she also knew how much I was looking forward to starting my PhD in the coming academic year. I'd loved every second of my masters. It had been the sole focus of my life, even before Rich dumped me. He'd implied that was _why_ he dumped me. Although the speed with which he'd hooked up with Candy, or Candice, or whatever her name was, suggested there were other factors in his decision. Since then, Laura and I had taken to using a different shortening of his name when referring to him.

Anyway, the doctorate program had swiftly become the most important thing to me. I'd figured, as long as I had that, I would be OK. And when that was swiped out from underneath me, it was difficult to be positive and philosophical.

Leaning her hip against the counter, Laura peered skeptically at me. "I'm sure it will be," she concealed calmly. "But I still think there must be another way."

With a half-hearted shrug, I scooped up my plate and carried it to the sink. "It's fine," I insisted. "I've still got the summer to look forward to." Forcing a smile, which turned somewhat genuine when I considered that I did, indeed, have the summer to look forward to, I met her pale blue eyes.

"Hmm," she seemed to agree, although it was undeniably subdued.

"Do you mind if I jump in the shower first?" I added; keen to leave the room before she started to pick at my facade of acceptance. "I've got a class in an hour."

"Sure," she responded, reaching blindly behind her to a fruit bowl. "We can talk about it later," she offered, picking up a banana.

I nodded as I left the room, but said nothing and was glad to be out from under her scrutinizing gaze. I hated the fact she could see through my 'brave face'. I hated the fact she knew me so well; I was used to being able to hide around people - even people who had known me for years. To a lesser or greater extent, we all keep everyone at a distance. Even those we claim to be closest to don't really know us; not all of us. Not every single thought and feeling.

But Laura was exceptionally perceptive, or perhaps she simply cared enough to really take notice of those around her. She didn't seem to see my deepest darkest secrets; at least, if she did she didn't make it known. However, she never failed to spot any emotion I tried to camouflage. It was unnerving.

And, at the same time, I loved it.

I had known her for almost five years, and, in that time, she hadn't just become my best friend, but also the best friend I'd ever had. I strongly suspect, she'll be the best friend I ever have.

It was a classic case of opposites attracting. My field of study was humanities, and I was passionate about literature, and art and the theatre. Laura, in contrast, was a woman of 'hard science'. She was in the midst of her masters in chemistry, and had plans to go into pharmacology. On paper, she and I shouldn't have got along so well. We shared precious few interests. But that didn't seem to matter.

We'd been living together for two years. Amazingly, we have never had a big argument. Of course we have are little girly spats, like a couple days ago Laura borrowed my favorite shirt without asking. I did not appreciate that so we talked... I think that is why are friendship is so strong, we talk about everything. Being one of precious few women in her program, Laura had been hit on by almost every single one of her male classmates. She'd dated a few of them, but it never really amounted to much. That didn't seem to faze her, though. She was content just dating. In fact, she seemed to thrive much more on the variety. A steady relationship wasn't in her plans. My own losing in love probably helped to cement her view that 'serious' was not a good idea.

Just as you'd expect from a good friend, she was there to pick up the pieces. Or more accurately, to help me drown my sorrows with ice cream and vodka, then hold my hair back while I spent the rest of the night vomiting. Not a pretty sight. So, Laura had seen me at my worst. I would like to say, I'd seen her at hers. But I don't think she had a 'worst'. She wasn't perfect, but the only cracks I'd seen were minor: arguments with her mom; a penchant for texting an old boyfriend when she'd had a few glasses of wine; a noisy and energetic session of sex with a guy I struggled to look at the following morning - it was almost impossible not to giggle after hearing him yell, 'I'm the man!' as he climaxed.

Anyway, living with her had been fun. Leaving her, and the apartment that had come to be ours, was the one part of moving on and completing my PhD that I wasn't looking forward to. The chance to stay a while longer was the only good thing about all of those great colleges turning me down. By the time i climbed out of the shower and dried off, I tried to hang on to that thought.

# Chapter Two

Dr. Hamilton always insisted on being called Frank. He had a very informal lecturing and tutoring style, wore Armani jeans, and was constantly cracking jokes. He was in his early forties, but clearly felt as though he were still in his twenties. He without a doubt preferred his students' company to that of his fellow professors.

"Right folks," he smiled, tapping his laptop with a flourish and bringing up a new image on his power point presentation. "Next time, I want to look at how some of our contemporary historians have shaped our understanding of the cultures of Rome and Greece."

His bright eyes, filled with passion for his subject, moved over the dozen of us before casting his attention to the clock at the rear of the room. "That's it for today though," he declared. "Unless there are any other questions."

There were none. Instead, the sound of light chatter filled the room along with chairs being pushed back and books being swept up. I closed my notebook, then tossed it and my pen into my bag.

"Faith, you gonna join us for coffee?" a voice from behind me asked as I straightened.

Tossing my face over my shoulder, I found Emily closing the cover of her laptop. She was a striking redhead, who was beautifully petite. I envied her delicate features, and the ease with which she always seemed to smile. It was a genuine smile, too. Not one of those 'have a nice day' forced grins.

"Umm," I hesitated; about to add 'sure', but never got that far.

"Actually, Faith," Frank called from the front of the room, "could I have a word? It won't take long."

My face twisted back in mild surprise. "Oh...OK," I mumbled, unused to being asked to stay after a class. The last time that happened was in junior high, when I'd been caught passing a note between Jennifer Ackerman and Ben Keuther in algebra.

Seeming to note the mild alarm in my hazel eyes, he smiled. "It's nothing to worry about," he assured quietly.

I nodded and wandered slowly toward the small desk that held his laptop.

"We'll be at the Courtyard," Emily said as she walked past me and placed a light hand on my shoulder.

"Great," I replied. "I'll meet you there." However, my attention was predominantly focused on Frank Hamilton as he shut down his computer, apparently waiting until we were alone to launch into whatever it was he wanted to say.

When the room was completely silent, and the door shut behind the last of my classmates, he lifted his face to mine. "By the way, I thought your paper on Caligula was really good," he began, grinning broadly. "You raised some very interesting points."

Rather more confused than when he first asked me to stay behind, I was completely baffled, "Oh, well.... I...Thanks."

"Yeah, it was very insightful," he added, slipping one hand into the pocket of his designer jeans as he perched his hip against the desk. His lively green gaze moved smoothly over my face, but I could sense that was not all he wished to say. I also gained the impression that whatever was coming next would not be quite so flattering.

"Thanks," I said, managing not to stutter and stammer before it.

"Um," he continued, "the reason I need to talk to you is the summer internship has been oversubscribed."

"Oh," I mumbled, not appreciating where this might be heading.

"The dig isn't going to be as large as initially anticipated, so I'm not going to be able to take as many students as I'd hoped." Still, he smiled, which threw me a curve ball. If I was one of the ones being dropped, why did he look so cheerful about it?

Running his free hand through the floppy light brown hair on his forehead, he seemed to wait for me to speak, but I had nothing to offer. And eventually, he surged on. "I'll be letting the others know by email," he said. "But I wanted to speak with you in person, because I know how much this meant to you."

"Oh," I breathed, my features a blank while he continued to grin and confuse the hell out of me.

"How much does it mean to you, Faith?" he wondered aloud.

"Err," I fumbled. "Well, I...I was really looking forward to it."

"Let me rephrase the question," he chuckled. "What would you be prepared to do for it?"

"Excuse me?" I whispered, although it was obviously loud enough for him to hear.

Lifting his hand from his pocket, he reached toward me and swept a strand of hair off my cheek. "I could make sure you're still in," he explained, "if you wanted it badly enough."

For a split second, I was held frozen to the spot, wondering if I'd heard him correctly and then asking myself whether I was jumping to conclusions. It only took that blink of an eye to snap to my senses, though.

Taking a deliberate and hurried step back, I placed myself out of his reach. "Are you out of your mind?" I blurted.

"Oh, come on," he cheerfully urged. "I'm offering to do you a favor, and it could be a summer you'll never forget, if you know what I mean."

He had lost his grip on sanity. That was the only explanation. Some kind of midlife crisis had made him blind to how thoroughly immoral and inappropriate he was being.

"Listen Dr. Hamilton," I stated firmly, emphasizing the more formal incarnation of his name, "I don't know who you think you're talking to, but I am not about to prostitute myself for an internship."

"Woah, woah," he hurriedly chuckled. "Who said anything about prostitution? I'm simply suggesting that there's a way you could come on the excavation, and that you and I could have a very pleasant stay in Greece during our down time."

"That sounds an awful lot like prostitution to me," I snapped, taking another pace backward and moving to the door. "The answer is a resounding 'no', Dr. Hamilton," I assured him firmly. "If I don't make the cut on my merits as a student, then I don't want to know." Still looking at him, and hoping he could see the bald seriousness in my eyes, I reached behind me and gripped the door handle.

"You make it sound like some sleazy proposition," he scoffed.

"Ya think?" I returned in kind.

Flinging the door open, I spun toward it and hastened out of that room as quickly as I could. For a while, as I hurried along the hallway with my heart pounding, I contemplated heading straight to the dean's office. However, with each step, I lost zeal for the idea. It would be his word against mine. Hamilton would deny it; he might even flip it around and say that I offered myself to him in exchange for a spot on the dig. If that version of events was believed, I could permanently kiss farewell to any chance of getting on a PhD program anywhere.

By the time I pushed on a set of double-doors that took me out into the bright, spring sun, I knew that I had to keep my mouth shut. I hated the fact that I would; every instinct rebelled against it. But it was a battle I was very unlikely to win, and what I stood to lose was simply too great.

Gripping my phone from my pocket, I wrote a quick SMS to Emily, telling her only as much of the truth as was necessary. 'Just found out I'm not on the Greek excavation. Sorry, not really in mood for coffee. See you another time.'

***

Later that afternoon, I walked into an apartment that smelled faintly of cookies. Sure enough, on the kitchen table were a plate of freshly baked choc chip beauties, with a note from my friend the chemist (and baker), 'Thought these might cheer you up!'

In and of themselves, they didn't. But the thought; the fact she cared, most certainly did.

Life though, was intent on shitting on me from a great height. No PhD, no internship for the summer, no boyfriend (that one mattered far less, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't still irritate me), and no clear plan for the future.

Wondering if I could stomach twelve months of full time work at the restaurant, I started to think that I should just give up on the grad school idea altogether. Perhaps moving back to Seattle, and getting a job there, would be the best option. God knows, I still could not afford to complete my PhD without working my buns off while studying. Maybe it simply wasn't worth it.

"You're twenty-three," I reminded myself, kicking off my shoes and shuffling to my own room. "Time to start acting like a grown up." Truthfully, I didn't quite know what that meant, but it seemed to imply a 'proper', stable job and a mortgage.

Sulkily throwing myself into the chair in front of my desk, I turned on my computer through habit more than anything else. Without giving much thought to what I was doing, I logged into my college email, and found the official announcement that I was being dropped from the internship. Glancing at the time, I noted it was sent just ten minutes earlier.

Scrolling down, there were the usual mass campus mails: a list of local bands performing at the student bar; the performance artists who would be at the theatre for a couple of afternoons next month; and the senior students trying to sell second-hand textbooks to the juniors.

But then, something else caught my eye. 'Newcastle University, New South Wales.' Bewildered, I shook my hand as I took hold of the mouse and drew the cursor up to the subject line. 'PhD proposal.'

My confusion not lifting, I opened the email and my jaw dropped as I read the email. 'Ms. Solano, thank you for your interest in studying at Newcastle University. We're very happy to inform you that your research proposal on the early Roman Empire has been accepted.'

The fact that I'd applied in the first place had completely slipped my mind. It wasn't something I'd wanted to do even. I was hounded by some guy at one of those seminars, and to get him to go away, I'd given him my name and email address. A few days later, I'd received the application from, which I half-heartedly filled out and I'd just attached the same proposal I was sending to Yale - not even bothering to check whether the research topic was one the college entertained.

I hadn't dreamed, for one moment that I would be offered a place there. I barely knew anything about the university. Hell, I barely knew anything about Australia. I couldn't even point New South Wales out on a map of the country. It wasn't something I'd entered into with any prospect of it becoming a reality. Yet, there I was with it very real, Letter of acceptance.

"Oh, my God," I mumbled.

If things had been different; if there was still a U.S. school considering my application, I would have been completely uninterested in studying on the other side of the world. But as things had turned out, I was forced to wonder what I had to lose.

Closing my email, I brought up the website for Newcastle University, and opened a new tab to Google the weather in New South Wales. It did not take long for me to warm to the idea. Who the heck needs Greece? I could have my very own adventure. There was rich history to be explored there, and, more importantly, they wanted to take me.

What had seemed like a flippant decision seven months ago was beginning to seem like the best thing I'd ever done. A smile started creeping onto my face as I looked at images of architecture, and landscapes around New South Wales, I heard the front door shut.

"Hey, Faith," Laura called. "You back?" She must have seen my discarded shoes, but was no doubt troubled by the full quota of cookies that still sat on their plate.

"In here," I replied, lifting my voice so that she would hear me.

A few moments later rapid tap sounded at the door. I say rapid, because she didn't bother to wait for an answer before entering. "Hey, you OK?" she asked, concern very evident both in her voice and her face. Although the latter lifted very noticeably when she spotted the grin on my face.

"What?" she wondered, drawing the word out. "What's going on?"

Swivelling my chair toward her, my cheeks began to ache. "You know this morning; you were saying there's got to be something else I can do?" I said.

"Yeah," she replied warily.

"Well, you were right," I told her cheerfully. "It might not be Yale, but there is a school that's accepted me."

"Great!" she declared at an ear-piercing volume. "Where?"

"Australia," I responded smoothly.

Her features froze, then fell slightly as her hand released its grip on the edge of the door and flopped down at her side. "Are you serious?" she questioned quietly.

"Yes," I replied, my own smile slightly faltering. I knew what she was thinking. "It's not as far it seems," I added, pre-empting her concerns. "With Skype and everything, it won't seem any different from being in another state."

Shaking her head, she resumed her usual brightness. "No, you're right. You're absolutely right. And it's wonderful," she added genuinely. "It's just wonderful." Walking forward, she spread her arms wide.

I instantly leaped out of my chair and stepped straight into her embrace. Tossing my arms around her, I giggled. "It's a little scary," I admitted, "but I'm excited."

"I'm excited for you," she murmured gently. "I'm going to miss you, but I'm so excited."

"Oh, Lau," I mumbled. "I'm gonna miss you too, but I promise I'll stay in touch."

"You better," she warned good-naturedly.

"And you'd be welcome to come visit," I added enthusiastically.

"Hmm," she hummed pulling back slightly. "I'm not sure about that," she admitted with a purse of her lips. "All those spiders and snakes."

Having not given much consideration to the native wildlife, I stood motionless. "But there's anti venom for everything, isn't there? And besides, the spiders aren't everywhere, right?"

"And then, of course, there's the crocodiles," she added, a broad grin stretching her light pink lips.

"Stop it," I chided, releasing her completely and slapping her upper arm. "Seriously, they're not everywhere, are they?" I repeated my tone more grave.

A teasing grin, she stepped back.

"They're not, are they? Laura?"

Refusing to respond, but beginning to giggle, my friend wandered out of my room. I could still hear her chuckling as she made her way down the hall.

# Chapter Three

Over the next few months, I did some research which reassured and terrified me in equal measure. No doubt about it, the wildlife of Australia was frightening. But, eventually, I reached the conclusion that if it were really that dangerous there wouldn't be half as many Australians. My uneasiness over the various creatures that awaited certainly wasn't enough to put me off. After all, I wanted to be an archaeologist; I couldn't let my fear over a few creepy-crawlies dictate my future.

Work was made much more bearable by the knowledge that the days were numbered, and I quite literally marked them off on the calendar.

Only a couple of times did I think about Greece and what I might be missing - nothing to do with Dr. Hamilton's offer, I felt sure I was missing out on nothing there. But I was much too busy making travel arrangements, filling out dozens of forms for student loans, and finding a place to stay to really worry about the dig I wasn't on.

And by early July, it was time to pack up my things. The university's spring session didn't start until the end of the month, but I wanted to get settled in before my course began. I already anticipated a big culture shock. For one thing, despite the semester being called 'spring', when I arrived it would actually be winter. Then again, of course, winters in New South Wales were going to be nothing like the many winters I'd experienced in Seattle or New York.

Just before flying out, I spent a week with my folks, who were understandably reluctant about my decision, but also wonderfully supportive. Then came the dreaded and very tearful goodbye at the airport with Laura and my family. A cocktail of excitement and fear made an almost nineteen-hour flight seem even longer.

I spent a couple of days in Sydney, exploring all of the tourist hot spot: The harbour bridge and the opera house.

Then, I rented a car and drove the two hours or so to Warabrook; a suburb of Newcastle, where I was renting a small two-bedroom villa. It felt strange, from the moment I walked in, to be living alone. And that was when my first hint of homesickness grabbed me. In a bid to quash the sensation, I lifted my phone from the back pocket of my jeans and wrote a brief line to Laura. However, it didn't take long to figure out that it was still very early in morning in New York, and she wouldn't be out of bed for some time.

For a while I tried to occupy my mind with other things. I read for twenty minutes, or rather I tried to read. I'm fairly certain that what I actually did was skim the same line hundreds of times and still didn't quite manage to absorb it. Abandoning the book, I listened to the radio for a while. Eventually, feeling smothered by the emptiness of the small house, I swept up the car keys and headed back outside.

Muttering under my breath when I at first went to get in the passenger side, I walked around the hood muttering, "Sit on the right, drive on the left." That was yet another facet of life in Oz that I was yet to get used to.

There was no plan in mind; no destination. In fact, I didn't even turn the GPS on, which, I suppose, could be defined as stupidity. Then again, it's not as though the GPS would have been particularly useful. I didn't know any roads or landmarks in the area. So, as I pulled out of the driveway, I just determined to go wherever the mood took me.

And the mood told me to drive, and drive and drive, until I was no longer in town. Leaving the houses behind, I found myself on an old and pot-holed road, with nothing but dusty fields either side of me.

Eventually, I ended up behind a huge truck, which was going ten miles an hour or so slower than me, but I didn't bother to pull out and go around it. Instead, I took my foot off the gas and enjoyed the fact that on my left and my right, there was not a soul to be seen for...well, it must have been miles.

Some way in the distance was a cluster of massive reddish rocks, and as the sun begun to sink, it placed itself perfectly between the gap in two jagged faces. Realizing that I was struggling to take my eyes off the sight, I slowed the car and pulled off the road. Having always lived in cities, this kind of spectacle was rare to me.

"Wow," I whispered, the burnished color of everything around me seeming almost ablaze under the sun's light.

Pulling the keys from the ignition with one hand, I reached blindly into my pocket with the other. Grasping my phone and wishing I'd had the good sense to bring my proper camera, I opened the door and stepped out. The coolness of the air struck me instantly. It wasn't enough to be called cold, but it was much chillier than it had been in my solar-warmed vehicle, and I was glad of the sweater I had on.

Not bothering to close the car door, I took a few steps, while the wind caused dust to sting my face and hands. Blinking out flecks of dirt, I wasn't going to be dissuaded from my goal. Twisting my phone width-ways, I held it in both hands and lifted it level with my face. Partially blinded by the dirt in my eyes, I snapped a handful of shots, hoping that at least one of them would do reality justice.

Then, happy to be able to finally turn my face from the wind, I moved back to the car. With the door closed behind me and the whistling wind shut out, I was once again able to see clearly. So as a shielded my cell phone's screen from the glare through the window, I flicked through the pictures I'd just taken. I was of the opinion that they looked pretty good given the circumstances, and, pleased with myself, I tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and took hold of the keys that still dangled from the ignition.

Taking one last appreciative look at the real sun, I figured its beauty was a good omen. I couldn't define exactly why, but it seemed to bode well for the future.

Although, apparently, not the immediate future.

Twisting my right hand, I tried to start the engine again. But all I received in reply was a sluggish, strained whirring. My fingers froze. "Ahh, come on," I muttered beneath my breath. Flicking the key back, I tried to turn it again. Just like before, all I got was a labored whir.

"Shit," I hissed, a heavy sense of danger and dread settling in my lower abdomen. "Come on," I urged, trying a third and fourth time. "Fuck!" I eventually shrieked, banging the heel of my left hand against the steering wheel. Clamping my eyes shut, I forced out a slow, calming breath. "It's fine," I told myself. "It's fine." With a nod of self-assurance, I peeled my eyes open again and reached for my phone.

Placing it in front of me, I wondered who to call. The car rental company; my landlady, although I'd known her all of five minutes, she was the only person I knew in Warabrook; roadside assistance, did they have triple-A in Australia? Recalling the guy at the car place told me there were details in the glove compartment, I began to lean across to it. But, as I did, I noted that the internal debate over who to call was pointless. I couldn't call anyone.

Foolishly, I turned the cell upside down, a waved it about it a little and then lifted it toward the car's ceiling. It didn't change the fact that I had no service. "Oh, you've got to be kiddin' me," I exclaimed through gritted teeth.

Heart thumping uncomfortably hard, and breath coming anxiously fast, I glanced over my shoulder and the long, empty road behind me. The whole time I'd been parked, no other vehicle had passed. And I could see no vehicle on the horizon, either. My face twisting hurriedly back around, I looked again at the sun. It was still sinking, and seemed to be descending faster now. For a moment, I simply stared at it, weighing my options. However, as I sifted through them, I begin to appreciate how few there were.

And as time continued to pass, I had fewer.

"For, Christ's sake," I muttered, before grasping the door handle, leaping out of the car and popping the hood as I moved.

Having absolutely no clue what I was planning to do once I'd looked at the engine, I swept around the front of the car and slipped my fingers in the gap of the insect-strewn hood. I groped a little before finding the catch and releasing it. The only things I knew about cars were how to check the oil and refill the windshield washer fluid. And on this car, I couldn't even find the dipstick.

Nothing looked amiss, but how would I even know?

Shaking my head, I muttered, "Idiot," at myself before dropping the hood back in place and moving quickly back to the still open driver's door. Leaning my upper body in, I took only the keys and my phone with me. Then, I slammed the door with a hefty and angry thunk, pushed the remote lock and scanned the road in both directions. There were no cars, no trucks, no nothing. Lifting my cell, I waved it around again, stretching my arm right above my head in an overly hopeful effort to get a tiny hint of signal. Unsurprising, it didn't work.

Coercing myself to breathe slowly, I lowered my arm while I tried to remember anything I'd passed on the road; a gas station, a motel or a roadside diner. But I couldn't recall seeing a damn thing for at least an hour. In the other direction, meanwhile, was the unknown. However, it seemed a fair bet that if nothing was behind me for an hour, than something had to be coming up ahead...didn't it?

I simply did not know what to do for the best. But I did feel the compulsion to do something, because standing right where I was equalled lying down and accepting I would have to spend the night in the middle of nowhere, with God knows who, and what, for company.

So, keeping my phone in my hand and snatching desperate glances at it with every few steps, I began to walk away from the car - hoping that my guess about a truck stop, or something, up ahead was right.

At first, I walked with purposeful, long strides. But as dusk drew on, and glimpses over my shoulder told me that I was losing sight of the car, my feet were no longer quite so eager. And still, there was no sign of life anywhere and no damn signal on my phone.

Once I'd wandered so far that I couldn't see the silver Prius at all, my panic returned in earnest. "Shit, shit, shit," I mumbled, my focus flicking in every direction as I searched for something, anything that would tell me I was going to be all right. But, all I could see was dust, and rocks, a few pitiful looking trees and some clumps of desert grass.

An eerie howl rippled through the air, the sound rising and falling like a strange phonetic wave. Panic morphed into something verging on terror and I lifted the phone from my side. The words 'no signal' were still taunting me. Praying there was some scrap of signal from another network and now considering my situation an emergency, I tapped 000 and whispered encouragingly as I brought the cell to my ear. "Come on, come on."

No noise hit my ear, however, and as I snatched the phone back down and stared accusingly at it. The screen told me that the call couldn't be connected. In a fit of petrified anger, I gripped the plastic case hard. And, as helpless tears began to swell, I got the overwhelming, but self-sabotaging, urge to pitch the useless piece of crap as far as I could.

Digging my teeth into my upper lip, I quashed the desire, reminding myself that, next to driving all the way out here, that was probably the stupidest thing I could do. Blinking, I swiped a hand across my cheek bone, where a lone teardrop had strayed.

"OK," I reasoned quietly to myself, turning to look at the sun. It was almost gone now, half sunk on the horizon. I didn't know how much longer there would be light, but I knew it couldn't be much longer. "OK," I repeated, knowing that everything was very far from 'OK'.

I could go back to the car, I would probably be back to it before it got dark. But then what? Sleep there? I could keep walking, but I had no clue whether I was getting myself into a deeper mess with every step.

Meanwhile, the wind was gaining strength, whistling hard against my ears and sweeping up dust that grazed my skin, making it raw and red. There was no doubt about it, I was in trouble. And then, I heard another howl; the creepy noise seeming to roll across the landscape. It was apparent, even to a city slicker like me, that its source was some distance away, but it was no less unnerving for that fact.

Reaching my decision, I concluded the car was the safest retreat. It would not be comfortable, and I would not feel entirely secure, but it had to be better than being completely exposed. I was about to turn back toward it when something stopped me.

"G'day!" a voice called.

# Chapter Four

Swivelling abruptly, and stirring up the dirt at my feet, I whirled around. A few yards away, on the other side of the road, was a man on horseback. The black bay creature, with white rings above its hooves and another light patch on its forehead, cantered energetically.

The man on the horse's back was dirty - that was the first thing I noticed about him. He wore an Akubra (or wide-Brimmed hat), which had once been cream in color, but was now covered in a layer of dust and red handprints. His blue plaid shirt, with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, was equally filthy. His pale jeans, with non-designer rips in the knees, looked as though they had grease stains all over them. His sun-bronzed arms and face were tinged with ochre from the plumes of dust kicked up by the heavy hooves beneath him.

"Hey there," he called, pulling his animal to a halt once they were level with me, but still on the opposite side of the wide highway. His accent was heavy; drawling vowels and round 'A' sounds coupled with the languorous delivery that seemed typical here, as though the heat of the place made speaking itself seem like too much effort.

"Hi," I hollered back.

"You all right?" he wondered, pushing at the brim of his hat and revealing blond hair beneath, which was, as would be expected, grubby.

"I...uh..." I replied, unnecessarily checking the empty road before stepping out into it. "My car broke down a way back." With a flick of my hand, I gestured in the direction I'd come. Crossing the careworn old asphalt, I no longer needed to yell. "I couldn't get a signal, so I was trying to find one."

"Ohh," he smiled. "You won't get one round here. But the ranch is a just a couple of miles up," he added with a jerk of his head. "You can use the phone there."

Slipping my cell into my back pocket, I drew a little nearer to him and his horse stretched its head towards me. Startled, I stepped back out of its reach.

The man chuckled. "She won't hurt ya," he assured, rubbing a hand across a chin that bore at least two days' worth of stubble. "She wouldn't hurt a fly."

I believed him, but I was still too nervous to get any closer. Apart from a friend's birthday party, when I was ten, I had never been near a real horse. And back then, it was a miniature pony in one of those mobile petting zoos. This animal was huge in comparison.

"How far away is your car?" the man asked, smoothly lifting his rugged tan boot from the stirrup and jumping down from the saddle. He landed with a hefty clump that sent a surge of dust flying up.

"Umm...I'm not sure," I admitted softly, feeling thoroughly foolish. But also feeling a little uncomfortable. This man could be a perfectly nice stranger, trying to do a good deed. Or, he could be some grimy, sleazy maniac. The smile, which was broad, easy and bright, could have been lulling me into a false sense of security.

Now he was standing, I could tell that he was a little over six feet. He also seemed to be pretty athletically built; slim, but not weedy; muscular, but not dysmorphic. "You're quite a way from home, aren't ya?" he asked, casually slipping a thumb into a belt loop.

I assumed he was referring to my accent, and also suspected that his question was a rhetorical one.

Pale blue irises seeming to laugh as they slipped over my features, he used his free hand to vigorously pat his horse's neck. "So, you wanna get up?" he suggested calmly.

"Huh?" I replied in bewilderment.

"Well, it's gettin' pretty dark," he shrugged, still rubbing at the sleek long neck of his ride. "I don't think Tia will complain too much about having to carry your weight, too."

Swallowing nervously, I didn't know what to do or say. On one hand, it would be intensely rude to turn down his offer of help, not to mention it was possibly the only help I was going to get. But, was it worth the risk of being raped, murdered and eaten by dingoes just because I didn't want to seem discourteous?

"Umm," I hesitantly replied.

"Listen," he said, his face still occupied with that laidback smile, "I know being out here on your own must be frightening, but I promise all I want to do is help." Taking a small step, he slipped his thumb from his jeans and wiped that hand vigorously down his thigh. "You know what? This is all my fault. Of course you don't trust a stranger." Seeming happy that his palm was relatively clean, he extended it toward me. "I'm Jay," he said warmly.

"Faith," I responded, wrapping my fingers around his calloused hand and shaking it firmly - I didn't want him thinking I had a weak grip. If he did plan to attack me, being aware of my ability to give a good, solid handshake would surely make him think twice! I don't know why it seemed important, but for some reason it did.

"That's a beautiful name," he replied, releasing my hand. "And it's appropriate," he chuckled. "So, what d'ya say? Will you have a little faith and let me take you to the ranch house?"

I cast my mind back to a self-defense course I'd taken in my sophomore year of college. Trying to remember the classes, I wondered if any of the moves, which I'd never had a call to actually use, were fresh enough to muster if required. What I did very prominently recall was the first rule: trust your instinct. If you're in a situation that feels wrong, get the hell out.

As I looked at Jay and then the gentle brown eyes of his horse, who nuzzled her owner's upper arm, I didn't feel uncomfortable. Instinct wasn't telling me to run. I was aware, of course, that my instinct could be betraying me, but it was a risk I had to take...wasn't it?

"Two miles, you say?" I mumbled, tearing my gaze from him and looking in the direction he'd pointed to with his head.

"About that."

"Thank you," I replied softly, nodding.

His grin broadening, he cocked his head to beckon me to his horse's side. "You ever ridden before?" he asked, as I followed his instruction.

"No," I informed him, a little embarrassed by the confession and not sure why.

Tia's face followed me as I nervously approached her. She sniffed me gently and then extended her tongue. I remained motionless, as she licked the sweater that covered my shoulder, anxious that she was about to take a bite out of me.

"Hey," Jay gently chided, placing his palm on the horse's nose and urging her away. "Sorry," he added. "She's not usually that friendly with people she doesn't know." Placing his right hand on the rear of the saddle, he bent to hold the stirrup steady. "Just stick your foot in there," he instructed simply. "Take hold of the saddle, and heave yourself up."

Inexplicably concerned about making a fool of myself, I demurely did as he suggested. Slipping my sneakered foot into the stirrup, I reached up at full stretch to take hold of the saddle. Then, with a light bounce of my foot in preparation for the effort, I hauled myself up with a soft grunt.

Jay moved with me, straightening until his shoulder came into contact with my butt and then giving me the extra push I needed to swing my right leg over the saddle.

Chewing at the inside of my cheek, I looked back down to him and found him laughing.

"What?" I demanded.

"Nothin'," he hurriedly insisted. "Nothin'. It wasn't bad for a beginner."

"Then, what's so funny?"

Refusing to tell me, he ran his hand absentmindedly over Tia's nose. "Shuffle up as far as you can," he said, "and take your feet out of the stirrups."

With slightly clumsy movement, I freed my feet and left them dangling either side the barrel of the horse. Then, gradually, I slid forward until my pubic bone struck the saddle's pommel.

"OK?" he asked as he placed himself on my right and lifted his own foot into the stirrup. After my silent nod, he propelled himself with perfect ease. As he smoothly dropped into the saddle behind me, he inadvertently pushed me slightly further forward.

Pushed tightly against the hard swell of leather in front of me, I experienced an involuntary and entirely unwanted tingling. But I could not move. He was flush at my back. The bulge in his jeans pressed solidly against the top of my buttocks.

As he reached around me and grasped the reins, I was acutely aware of his scent. He was sweaty, but it wasn't a rancid, stale kind of sweat. There was something sweet about it, but it was also earthy, and mingled with the dust around us, the leather of the saddle and something citrusy that I guessed was his deodorant, or shampoo, or shower gel.

Knowing that I was also sweaty, I wondered if I smelt good to him. Then silently asked myself why the hell that mattered. I wasn't trying to attract him. Still, the other mute voice in my head reasoned, I didn't want him to think I stink.

"You all right?" he asked, his breath tickling my ear.

"Uh huh," I muttered, it was all I was able to muster, as I started to feel the thud of my heartbeat in my tongue.

His thighs gripping my hips, he gave Tia a subtle kick of encouragement and she responded instantly. She moved gently, but the fact that she'd moved at all made me feel suddenly very unsteady. My fingers snatched down to hang on to something, and what they landed on was his hands.

I both felt and heard him chuckle. "Don't worry," he kindly said, through his amusement. "I want let you fall."

Self-consciously, I removed my hands from his, but I grasped the reins a little lower down despite his promise.

Then, with a click of his tongue and another kick of his heels, he squeezed both Tia and me. It prompted a burst of energy in her, and the sudden motion forced me back against his chest. Then, as her slender legs eased into a rhythm, my body, and his, undulated evenly with her.

My bound rubbing against the saddle with the temperate cadence, I became ever more accurately aware of the strength in his arms, the heat seeping through his shirt, and that intoxicating, masculine smell. A wholly inappropriate pleasantness blossomed between my legs, and I even began to feel my panties dampen. If the ride had lasted much longer than two miles, I would have been in serious danger of humiliating myself.

As it was, trying to take my mind off my body, I searched the landscape around me and urged myself to focus on something else. Ahead of us was a sprawling property, with several barns, two fenced paddocks, and further back still, a two-story ranch house with a massive deck under the shade of an awning.

The light was fading fast as we drew closer, and I spotted two men walking out of one of the barns. In turn, they noticed our approach and stood curiously waiting. Immensely grateful as Tia began to slow, I also felt the pressure of Jay's chest leave my back as he rapidly jumped down from his horse.

"Hey, Jay," one of the men grinned, "I thought you were going to check the perimeter. I do it, and bring back a dead wild dog. You do it, and you bring back somethin' very much more appealing." He wore a black A-shirt that was soaked with sweat, and a pair of scuffed jeans. His green eyes meandered over my face and then down my body. "Yeah," he muttered. "Much more appealing."

Feeling a little disquieted by the way the man was talking about me, and looking at me, I wondered if I had even more reason to be scared now than I had before. After all, there were three of them. No one knew I was there; we were miles away from any other building.

"Robbo," Jay grumbled. "This is Faith; her car broke down on the highway. Can you take the truck up there, and get it runnin' again?" His focus leaving his buddy, Jay looked up at me. "You still got the keys?"

"Oh, yeah, sure," I muttered, stuffing my hand into my pocket, and then tossing them down at him.

His reflexes were quick, and hands supple, he caught the keys easily in one hand then threw them at his friend.

Robbo was not as quick, nor as adept, and fumbled with them before finally wrestling a tight hold. "Which highway did you find her on?" he laughed, unflustered. "She sure ain't from round here."

"Just go and get her car," Jay returned, obviously nonplussed. "Do you wanna give him a hand, Cam?" he added, addressing the other man.

Of indigenous decent, Cam brushed his dusty hands over his khaki pants before nodding. "I guess, I better," he grumbled in good humor, "otherwise, the poor girl'll be here all night."

Suddenly feeling very uncomfortable about my elevated position on the back of a horse; like an overdressed Lady Godiva, I lifted one leg and slid gracelessly down. Robbo gave a snicker, and Cam clapped him jovially around the back of the head.

Then, the two men turned away and headed toward another outbuilding; one I hadn't been able to see on the way down.

"Pay no attention to him," Jay said as he took a step toward me. "It's a birth defect," he added, "he was born a dipstick."

I smiled at his joke, but felt far too tense to laugh. Evading his eyes, because I was certain I blush still heated my cheeks from the ride; I turned my focus to Tia and patted her neck.

"Between 'em, they'll be able to get your car running again, but if you want to use the phone, you're welcome to it," he suggested, jerking his thumb toward the house.

"No, I don't need to call anyone, thank you," I replied, looking at him while artfully avoiding looking at him.

It was ridiculous really; I was like an awkward adolescent boy who was worried his erection was on display. One of the benefits of being a woman is that you can be intensely aroused and, and nobody ever needs to know. Yet I still felt as though my dirty little secret was visible somehow.

"Sure?" he probed. "Boyfriend won't be worried?"

It was difficult to know, in my foggy state of mind, whether there was an element of interest or if it was a simple question that meant nothing more than its face value. I spent a few seconds trying to work that out before shaking my head. "No, I don't have a boyfriend."

His reaction didn't help. Face unaffected by the news, he reached forward and took hold of Tia's headstall. "Right, well, why don't you come on in anyway? I'll make us a cup of jarrah. They might be a while."

"Uh," my feet stalled as he began to lead the horse away from me. "That's very sweet of you," I added quietly. "But, are you sure your boss won't mind?"

"Boss?" he queried, twisting his face over his shoulder with a curious squint of his eyes.

"Well, the..." I mumbled, pointing at the massive house, "the guy who owns all this."

His lips breaking into a broad smile, he slowly turned and continued to walk. Eventually, once he was several yards away, I heard the words, "I own all this," tossed back at me.

# Chapter Five

After shutting Tia securely in her stable, Jay lead me into the house, and the sleek kitchen with its granite counters and mahogany cabinets. It was an ideal mix of modern and rustic.

"Listen," I began to say as he gestured for me to take a seat at the large pine table, "I didn't mean to offend you, I just...well, you're pretty young to own a ranch. That's why I assumed-"

"It's all right," he quickly interjected, interrupting my clunky attempt to apologize. "Besides, I suppose, it would be more accurate to say, I inherited it," he added, taking off his hat and hooking it on one corner of a high-backed dining chair. "It was my parents' ranch. Dad passed away three years ago, and my mum decided she couldn't bear to be here without him," he explained as he swept both hands through his lustrous, sandy blond hair. "So, she moved out to Perth to be near my oldest brother and his family."

"I'm sorry about your dad," I muttered.

"It's OK," he replied quietly, peering down at his boots. "That's life, right?" Something flicked through his mind and then he swiftly shook the melancholy aside. "Anyway, both of my elder brothers had already got their careers, and weren't interested in running this place, so it was down to me and Rob."

"Oh," I nodded. "Rob's your brother?"

"Yeah," he smiled. "I'm sorry about earlier; he can be a bit of an arsehole, but he doesn't mean any real harm."

"That's OK," I replied, not knowing what else to say. I wasn't sure if the mildly threatening speech was entirely OK, but I did feel perfectly safe with Jay around. And if he trusted his brother, then I guessed it probably was all right.

"Anyway," he breathed, grinning, "what'll you have? I'll fix you up a brew, and then I really oughta jump in the shower."

"Um, I don't mind," I shrugged, brushing hands that trembled slightly over the smooth surface of the table. "Whatever you're having."

Humming, he wandered to a kitchen cabinet and opened it. "Coffee OK?" he said, taking hold of jar of instant.

"Fine," I swiftly replied.

He kept his back to me as he filled the kettle, took two mugs down and began to prepare the drinks. "So, if it's not too nosy of me to ask," he began quietly, "how long have you been in Australia?"

"I arrived in Sydney three days ago," I told him.

"Right," he nodded, although his back remained toward me. "So, you on vacation or a gap year or...?"

"Actually, I'm here to go to school," I responded, glad of the chance to make small talk and get my mind off the potential embarrassment of the ride. I was also, mercifully, beginning to cool down. The tingling between my thighs had ceased, but the fact it had existed at all continued to mortify me.

"Ahh, I see," he countered evenly, pouring the boiling water into the mugs, then turning. "Which uni?"

"Newcastle," I offered, "I've just rented a place in Warabrook, and I felt like taking a drive." Shaking my head ruefully, I added, "I didn't really think it through. Pretty stupid, I guess."

Setting one of the mugs before me, he shrugged. "How were you to know the car would breakdown?" he said kindly. "Unless it's 'cause you ran out of petrol. You didn't, did you?"

"No," I stated sharply. I may not know much about cars, but I do know how to put gas in them. Not really annoyed, because I sensed he was only teasing, I offered him a small smile. "Thank you," I added much more quietly. "For, y'know, rescuing me."

His bright grin seeming to illuminate the entire room, he shook his head. "No worries," he dismissed easily. "Look, I'm gonna get cleaned up. You'll be OK here for ten?"

"Sure," I nodded.

I watched him rub at the nape of his neck and pick up his coffee. He blew on the steaming liquid as he took the cup with him and left the room. I listened to his footsteps along the hall, and then the stairs.

Left in silence, I wrapped my grimy hands around the mug and was struck by how cold my fingers were. It wasn't cold in the kitchen, but it seemed the pulsing adrenaline of the previous hour or so had constricted my circulation. Gratefully, I gripped the coffee a little tighter and brought it to my lips.

It was only at that instant that it hit me. I had been incredibly lucky. Lucky to be found, and even luckier to be found by Jay and not some machete-wielding lunatic. I was suddenly keenly aware of a dozen or more terrible things that could have happened to me, and I began to tremble from within. Traveling alone was an adventure all right, but that afternoon had been an adventure I'd rather forget.

Promising myself that I'd never be quite so foolhardy when travelling alone, I slowly sipped on the coffee until my jittering began to subside.

As I drank, my eyes moved around the neat, clean space and I began to wonder whether Jay and Robbo lived alone. Sexist it may have been, but I struggled to imagine two young men being so tidy. I recalled Rich's apartment, and the kitchen that was always a dump, because he and his roommates seemed incapable of cleaning up after themselves. Of course, Jay was older than Rich - I supposed he must have been in his late twenties or early thirties. But perhaps age had nothing to do with it anyway. The man could have just been a clean freak. It was difficult to picture the very filthy cowboy I'd first laid eyes on as a clean freak, but stranger things have happened.

To my right were glass sliding doors with an almost completely transparent mesh fly screen that covered their length. Beyond those windows, I peered out in the dimness at the unspoiled land at the rear of the property. There were a few evergreen trees out there that looked like Christmas trees, but the pines were sparser. Part of the space was graced with a lawn, which obviously needed to be manually watered. As I took in what was a back yard of sorts, one that Jay and Rob may have played in as boys, I became keenly aware of just how quiet it was. Cocking my head to the side, I strained a little and realized I could hear nothing. It was so unusual to not hear a sound - a car, arguing neighbors, a siren.

"You OK?" his voice startled me and sounded louder for my efforts to detect something in the silence.

Flinching in surprise, I laughed self-consciously. "Yeah, yeah, I was just admiring how quiet it is out here."

As I twisted to the doorway, I found him with hair that he hadn't seemed to towel dry. It was drenched; it was a light brown rather than a dirty blond. Uncombed, some strands flopped onto his forehead. He wore a plain white T-shirt, which amplified the natural tan of his skin. It also clung to his biceps, and shoulders, in a way that made it difficult not to stare. A pair of much smarter jeans than those he worked in covered his legs, and on his feet he wore only black socks.

Coming closer, he pulled out the chair next to mine. "I'm not jumping to conclusions to suggest you're a city girl," he mused in half-question as he sat down with a chuckle.

"I guess I am," I admitted softly, irrationally flustered by the admission. It wasn't as though he'd posed the sentiment as an accusation. Yet, I did get the feeling he found my lack of country smarts amusing. And for reasons I couldn't explain, I didn't like him laughing at me.

"Well, I reckon we could beat that out of you," he added, propping his elbow on the table and casually resting his chin in his palm.

"Wh...What?"

Laughing gently, he shook his head at my alarmed expression. "Not literally," he clarified. "But ya didn't do too bad for your first time on a horse, so I think a little time on a ranch would turn you into a proper hardy Sheila."

'Hardy Sheila' didn't sound much like a compliment, but the way he was grinning suggested he believed it to be one.

"Hmm," I nodded, not revealing my thoughts on the matter one way or the other. "And is your wife a hardy Sheila?" I asked, knowing deep down that the question had more to do with a desire to know whether he was single than it should have done.

"I'm not married," he replied in his mellow, lilting manner.

My lips drifting apart, I was about to follow up with, 'Girlfriend?', but the word stayed in my head.

"I'm sorry," he rapidly breathed, sitting up straighter. "I haven't asked if you wanna clean up. You're welcome to take a shower or a bath or whatever."

"Oh, no," I shrugged. "Thanks, but I don't have anything to change into, so there's not really a point."

"Right, yeah," he noted. "Sorry to say, I probably don't have anything that'll fit you."

"It's OK," I smiled shyly, feeling shaky again under his intense blue gaze.

"Well, do you want another drink, or can I get you some tucker?"

"Tucker?" I repeated in confusion.

Pushing the chair back but staying seated, he licked his bottom lip as he jerked his head in the direction of his kitchen units. "Food," he translated. "Are you hungry?"

"Um," I hesitated, trying to figure out when I last ate. I couldn't put an exact time on it, but it had been that morning. "Yeah, I guess I am," I admitted. "Please don't go to any trouble, though."

"It's no trouble," he insisted, already striding across the room and yanking on the refrigerator door. "Let's see," he muttered mostly to himself as he eyed the contents of his fridge. "I could knock us up some pasta, with some veggies and a bit of chicken," he suggested, lifting his face to the top of the door so I could see him.

"Sounds great," I replied, with a grateful grin.

As he grabbed some ingredients and began to move about the kitchen with the fluidity of someone who cooked often, I watched him with intrigue and interest. More casual conversation passed between us: he asked what I was studying at university. I asked whether he had any misgivings about taking over his family ranch. I told him that I'd always been fascinated by history. He told me that he'd been a bit of a slacker at school.

Then, we ate and I discovered that he could indeed cook. However, my enthusiasm for the meal started to feel as though I was patronizing him and I quickly apologized. "I didn't mean to sound surprised," I explained. "Must guys I know are happier ordering a pizza than making anything for themselves."

"Well, I like a pizza, too," he admitted, sticking his fork into a piece of chicken that was coated in the tastiest fresh tomato sauce I'd ever had in my mouth. "But Mum was adamant that her four boys knew how to cook and clean."

"A bet she's quite a woman," I noted.

"Yeah," he chuckled, nodding. "Yeah, she's that all right."

The rest of the meal passed in a semi-comfortable silence. I figured talk of his mom had got him thinking about his father's death, and her being all the way on the other side of the country. Whatever it was he was thinking about, he fell into a contemplative hush, and I didn't want to disturb him.

Setting my knife and fork down with a sincere thanks, I heard a thud at the front door and the heavy clump of boots along the hardwood hall.

"Jay!" Robbo's shout echoed along the corridor and into the kitchen.

"In here," Jay hollered back, twisting his face over his shoulder to help his voice carry in that direction.

Grinning proudly, the younger man swaggered into the room, swinging my car keys around his index finger. "All done," he declared, "you're up and runnin' again." Approaching the table, he dropped the key triumphantly before sniffing the air. "Something smells good, d'ya save me some?"

"In the pot," his older brother succinctly responded.

"Well," I breathed, "I suppose I better go."

"You don't have to," Jay began to say. "I mean, if you want to head back in daylight, you're more than welcome to spend the night."

"Ahh, man," Robbo groaned rubbing his hand down the length of his bare arm as he wandered to the pan of pasta and sauce that sat on the stove. "I've been bit to buggery."

My attention sliding back to Jay's features, I shook my head gratefully. "I appreciate the offer, but I'll be fine."

"All right," he accepted, "I'll walk you out."

Scooping my keys from the table, I lifted my free hand to the younger man, whose mouth was full. "Thanks for your help," I said.

"Don't mention it," he returned around half-chewed pasta, lifting a grubby palm in return.

Jay then led me from the kitchen, out onto the porch and down to my parked Prius. I groped for something to say and could only muster a, "Well..." as I unlocked the car door.

"Well..." he echoed.

"Thanks again, cowboy," I smiled.

"Err..." he mumbled with a puff of laughter. "I am not a cowboy."

Peering over my shoulder at the ranch around us, I turned my gaze back at him and arched an eyebrow. "You look very much like one to me," I told him in a matter-of-fact attitude.

"Where you come from maybe," he chuckled. "Out here, the cowboy is the kid that does the milking. I'm a stockman."

"Hmm," I respond, smiling at his indignant tone as I opened the car door. I didn't get in though. Instead, I simply clung to the edge of it. "That may be, but 'thanks, stockman' doesn't have quite the same ring to it."

"Nevertheless," he insisted in pleasant humor, "I'm not a cowboy."

"Well, either way, I really am very grateful to you," I said, the amusement drifting from my lips. Experiencing an urge to touch him, I hurriedly quash it and moved to get into the car.

"Hey, Faith," he stalled me, having no similar concern about touching me, his fingers looped around my elbow. "I don't wanna come across like a weirdo, but I was wondering if I could see you again."

Unprepared for his request, I faltered awkwardly. "Oh, well...I..." I can't deny that the thought was not at all unpleasant. But, it was crazy to be thinking about dating someone, wasn't it? "The thing is," I breathed, realizing that my stuttered efforts to speak were not only making me look like an idiot, but also insulting someone who had been immensely kind to me. "The thing is, because I've just got here, I'm settling into a new home, and I'm starting school next week, I've got a lot going on right now. And I-"

"It's OK," he quickly interrupted. "It's fine. I understand." There was no overt hint of annoyance or even a trace of coldness to his remark. Smiling, he nodded as he slipped one hand in his pocket and extended the other open palm toward me. "Can I have your mobile for a sec, though?"

Instantly reaching for my cell, I handed it to him without question.

He took it smoothly and tapped his thumb across the screen. "Do me a favor," he requested while focused on my phone, "give me a call when you get home."

"Uh," I muttered. "Well, I would, but I'm not sure how long it'll take. You must get up early, so I wouldn't wanna wake you or anything."

"Don't worry about that," he dismissed, tapping in the last digit of his number before gently handing me the phone back. "I won't go to bed until I know you're safe, so..."

"That's sweet of you, thanks." I mumbled shyly as I stuffed the cell back into my pocket and finally sunk into the car seat.

Stepping back, he let me close the door and gave me a lopsided grin. "You're welcome," he said. Although the words were muffled, I read the movement of his lips clearly enough.

When the car started smoothly, I silently vowed not to turn it off again until I got back to Warabrook.

# Chapter Six

Three months later, life had slipped into a routine. My new home didn't seem quite so foreign. I'd pretty much learned my way around campus. I'd made a few friends, and spring was kicking in, which (even though the winter hadn't been much of one to speak of) brought a certain optimism. Meanwhile, my PhD thesis was starting to look better and better, and my supervisor, Professor Bowman, was a fascinating and slightly eccentric woman who was always ready to offer the most remarkable advice. Often, that advice was related to the subject at hand. But on occasion, she'd say things like, "If you get stuck, go out and have a couple of drinks. That'll loosen the brain."

As it happened, I didn't do a great deal of going out or drinking. I'd managed to find a job at the local library and, between that and my studies, I was kept occupied. It wasn't all hard work, though. My roommate, someone I'd found through the student website to help make ends meet, would encourage me down to the pub at least once every couple of weeks.

Life was good.

"Don't forget, it's Anna's birthday party on Saturday," Kim mentioned as we walked side-by-side from the lecture hall.

"Yes," I breathed. I had completely forgotten. Pulling my shoulder bag from my side, I rummaged for my phone and made a note of it on my calendar. "Thanks," I added, smiling,

"I don't think it's gonna be a biggy," she shrugged. "Just something tossed on the hot rocks and a few tinnies."

Despite the twelve weeks that had passed, I was sometimes still convinced that these people spoke a different language. But, in this instance, I knew she was talking about barbecue and beer.

"Cool," I replied, casting my attention down to my phone again as I saved the date, and made a separate alert reminder to buy Anna, who was another of the PhD candidates and one of the sweetest people I'd ever encountered, a gift.

A huffed irritably beneath my breath when my stupid iphone decided I needed reminding to 'Buy Anna a girl'. Then, as I jabbed at the screen to delete it, my shoulder collided with something hard.

"Oh, I'm sorry," a voice said.

"No," I quickly insisted. "It's my fault." Lifting my face to the thing, or rather the person, I'd plowed into my jaw fell open. "I wasn't looking where I was going," I finished on a whisper.

"Faith," he grinned in surprise. "How are you doing?" Dressed in a pair of black dress pants, with smartly-shined loafers, and an open-necked white cotton shirt, he looked markedly different from the first time I'd laid eyes on him. His soft, thick hair was parted and had a little gel keeping it in place. His face still carried that shade of stubble, though.

He looked good. He looked really good. And I struggled to decide whether I preferred this 'clean' look or the dirty one that had also made me weak in the knees.

"I'm...er..." I muttered, nudging my brain back to the fact I'd been asked a question. "I'm fine, thanks. How are you?"

"I'm good," he nodded. "Y'know, I'd half hoped I might run into you here, but I didn't think it'd be literally."

A warm palm at the base of my spine reminded me that my friend was still beside me. "I've got to return a few books," she said. "I'll catch you later, all right?"

I'd been about to introduce her to Jay, but she was already walking ahead with easy strides of her lithe legs. "OK," I said to her retreating back, although I'm not sure if she heard me. There was certainly no sign that she did.

"It's great to see you," he said, that warm smile of his still beaming at me. "You look good."

"Thanks," I returned, allowing my eyes to move over him with a little less timidity than a few seconds before. "You look pretty good, too. You scrub up nice, cowboy," I added with a teasing grin.

"Stockman," he breathed, flashing me threatening eyes that were entirely belied by the dimples in his cheeks caused by his grin. "I'm a stockman, not a cowboy."

"Oh, that's right," I said, nodding as though it was something I'd forgotten. "Sorry," I continued, while a quirk flicked across my mouth and, I guess, removed any doubt of my attempt to get a rise out of him.

"That's OK," he replied before jabbing at the inside of his cheek with the tip of his tongue. "It's understandable you'd get confused. After all, you're a city girl. Of course, you're a Yank," he added with a mischievous glint in his vibrant eyes. "And you people didn't get Copernicus' memo. You're under the impression that the universe is actually America-centric."

For the briefest of seconds, I was ready to slap him. But there was no mistaking the humor in his teasing lips. Given how I had intentionally been teasing him, I couldn't really complain about getting it slung back at me two-fold.

I was not about to let the comment slip by unchallenged, though. "Is that so?" I tartly began, pulling myself to my full height. "Well, you-"

"Faith!"

That shout of my name was probably one of the best things that had ever happened to me. The fact is, I had no smart remark to toss at him. I was floundering for one even as I was speaking. And there is no doubt in my mind, if I'd been able to carry on unimpeded, I would have made a complete ass of myself.

Twisting my face behind me, I spotted the six feet and three inches of the man who had called me. Wearing board shorts, which were his permanent fashion choice, and a red T-shirt with the words, 'Train, Eat, Sleep, Repeat' printed over his expansive chest.

"Hey," he smiled, breaking into a jog as he drew closer. "I know I'm a complete pain in the arse, but I need a favor."

"Uh, sure," I replied, blinking curiously up at his intimidating height. Of course, there was absolutely nothing intimidating about him. You only had to know him for five minutes to realize that. Yes, he was built like a tank; played rugby and Australian rules football, but he was a gentle giant in every sense of the phrase.

"Oh, sorry, mate," he added, noticing Jay. "Didn't mean to interrupt."

"No worries," Jay muttered. Without the benefit of looking at his face, it was difficult to be certain, but I felt sure there seemed to be an unusual stiffness to his reply.

"Oh, err," I stuttered. "Matt, this is Jay," I hurriedly said. "Jay, this is Matt."

"Nice to meet ya," the tall man beside me smoothly and amiably stated.

"Yeah, you too," Jay countered, although there was not quite as much warmth.

Focus shifting away from the guy I'd just introduced him to, Matt looked down at me. "I've left my frigging keys at home," he explained, sweeping a hand through his short, jet black hair. "Can I borrow yours?"

Already digging a hand into my bag, I nodded. "Of course."

With a grateful sigh, he held out his hand in wait. "You're a lifesaver."

"No problem," I chuckled, placing the bunch of keys into his warm palm.

The pink, heart-shaped keychain that read, 'Courage and Faith' (a bon voyage gift from Laura) looked peculiar in his big hand, but he thought nothing of it. "If you're not back by the time I go to footie practice, I'll call you," he promised, "and we can arrange to meet someplace."

"That's fine," I assured him casually.

"All right," he grinned. "Well, I've gotta go. Thanks, babe." As he spoke, he bent at the waist and pressed a kiss to my cheek. Then, with his usual manners, he lifted his attention back to Jay. "Nice to meet you, mate."

"Yeah," came the less enthusiastic reply.

It seemed to me that Matt hadn't noticed the frosty reception. In his flustered rush, he left me with another quick, "Bye," and ran back the way he'd come.

By the time I stopped looking at him, I realized the atmosphere between Jay and I had become more than a little frosty, too. As I met his eyes, I wanted to ask him what was wrong. But I didn't have to ask. He answered by posing a query of his own.

"So, you two live together?"

I wasn't too dense to see where this was going. But I was too unwilling to believe that a man like Jay could be jealous...especially over me. He was a handsome guy. He could have any woman he wanted. Even as we stood talking, several young female students had cast him more than just a fleeting glance. Now, Matt was a good-looking man too, no doubt about it. But it beggared belief to think that Jay could be insecure no matter how good-looking another man was.

"Uh, yeah," I shrugged. "He's my housemate."

"Just your housemate?" he probed, his eyebrows pinching in suspicion.

My jaw flopping feebly open, I was both flattered and alarmed by the fact that he cared one way or the other. Over the previous twelve weeks, I'd secretly hoped that he might call me and restate his request that we get together. I'd eventually dismissed the notion, figuring that he couldn't really be that interested in me. Perhaps the invitation had only been a friendly one anyway. After all, he hadn't been the one who was aroused just by being near me. And I knew he wasn't, because there would have been no hiding it if he had been!

"Well, he's a friend," I eventually stammered.

"Oh," he nodded, seeming to read more into the word 'friend' than I'd written into it. His gaze falling away from mine, he shifted his smart shoes uncomfortably. "I'm sorry," he murmured, staring at my feet. "I shouldn't have asked. It's none of my business, I just-"

"He's gay," I suddenly blurted. "So..." I let the vowel dangle in the air awhile, knowing that nothing else needed to be said. And knowing that what I had spoken was proof that I wanted Jay to be under no illusion about the relationship Matt and I shared. We were more like brother and sister than anything else. Although we did talk about men in a way that, if I had a brother, I couldn't imagine doing.

The small movements of his body ceased for a moment, and then he lifted his face to mine once more. "Oh," he breathed. "Oh, right," he added. "Well, that's good...I don't mean him being gay. Not that I'm saying that's a bad thing. I mean, good on 'im. I've got no problem with-" stopping himself with a stern shake of his head, he huffed a self-deprecating laugh. When he opened his eyes again, it was with a bracing inhalation. "What I mean to say is, I'm glad you're still single." His slightly embarrassed smile drooping somewhat, he added a wary; "You are still single, aren't you?"

Unable to prevent the light chuckle that rocked my entire body, I nodded. "Yeah, I'm still single."

"Good," he whispered. "See," he continued, moistening his lips, "I was hoping that, now you're settled in, you might reconsider spending a bit of time with me." Shrugging his right shoulder, he made it seem like a relaxed question, but his awkwardness of just a few moments earlier told me that it was more than just casual to him. "And I'll try to keep my foot out of my mouth," he added coyly.

Two feelings battled within me. First, the more impulsive side of me (which, oddly enough, had made very few appearances in my life) was telling me to go for it. Second, the sensible me was aware of danger. There was danger in allowing myself to be distracted from my thesis. And there was an even greater danger of getting hurt. Jay seemed very interested. What if it all went wrong? What if his interest extended only as far as having sex?

I was a student, I was abroad...so, he might quite naturally assume I wasn't looking to get tied down. Anything that blossomed between us would be temporary. And I had never done temporary. Well, I had, but I'd never gone in with that view. I'd gone into all of my relationships thinking they had staying power. I'd been fantastically wrong.

"Faith?" Jay nudged, reminding me that he'd asked something. Well, in truth, he hadn't asked. He'd skirted around a direct question. It hung between us nonetheless. "I just thought it'd be nice to get to know you a bit better."

"I'd like to get to know you better too," I responded, the words flowing easily and honestly. Maybe it was a mistake to let my barely-used reckless side dictate my decision. But, I figured, as long as I didn't give it too much free reign, I'd be OK. I mean, there really was no harm in getting to know him better. I didn't have to leap into bed with him. I didn't have to go anywhere near his bed if I didn't want to.

The problem, of course, was I already did want to. Something about him made me hornier than I'd ever been in my life. So horny that, if he suggested it, I would have been happy to jump him those second, damn the consequences.

But he hadn't suggested it. His invitation was pretty platonic - the twinge of jealousy over Matt notwithstanding.

"Great," he beamed. "So, are you free at the weekend?"

"Err...yes," I said. "Oh, shit, no," I hurriedly added, my illiterate phone still clutched in my left hand a reminder of what I'd been doing. "I'm going to a friend's birthday party on Saturday. But, hey, I'm sure you could come along."

"I wouldn't wanna impose," he smiled, shaking his head.

"You wouldn't be," I assured him. "It's just a barbecue in the backyard."

"Thanks," he politely said, "but it's not really my thing."

"Not your thing?" I chuckled. "What red-blooded Aussie guy says a barbie and four X aren't his thing?"

His grin growing broader, mischief drifted into his eyes again. "You're picking up all the lingo, aren't ya?"

Finding his smile as infectious as ever, I shrugged. "When in Rome."

"I appreciate the offer," he uttered quietly. "But how about Sunday?"

I can't deny, I was a little hurt. Silently, I attempted to find reasons for his refusal. There were dozens, but none of them made me feel good about myself; maybe he didn't want to be seen with me; perhaps he thought my friends were beneath him. The latter didn't seem as likely, but it was still a possibility.

"Um, I'm not doin' anything," I lazily replied.

"Good," he enthused. "D'ya wanna come back up to the ranch?"

"You don't want my friends to be able to identify you, and you're suggesting I drive alone to your very secluded home?" I challenged, but I was only teasing. No matter how creepy the idea may have seemed on the surface, there was nothing creepy about the man proposing it.

"Do you trust me?" he grinned with a broad wink.

# Chapter Seven

It was a gloriously sunny day, and I'd had the good sense not to get wasted at the party, so there was not even a hint of a hangover. The four people that slept on my living room floor could not have said the same thing. Darren, the only one awake, looked decidedly unwell as he queried where I was off too so early - it was actually ten o'clock.

"Just going to see a friend," I explained quietly before telling him he would be able to find aspirin in the cabinet above the bathroom sink. Then, trusting Matt to ensure that the house wasn't trashed and the carpet wasn't splattered with vomit, I left my worse for wear friends behind.

During the drive to Jay's ranch, I felt inexplicably nervous. Not frightened as such, but that excited, fluttering kind of nervousness. A jittering dwelt low in my abdomen, and my hands trembled slightly. It was the same kind of feeling I'd had when I got on the plane to Australia; that mixture of nervousness and elation. I hadn't felt that way about a person in several years. The last time was probably when I was sixteen; I'd had a huge crush on the quarterback of the football team, a ridiculously handsome boy called Ben Curtis. Nothing ever came of my infatuation, but I used to get that mildly nauseous sensation whenever he was within fifty feet of me.

In the years since, I'd assumed that was just an adolescent thing, and that grown women didn't feel that way around men, even ones they were attracted to. I'd certainly never experienced it around Rich. But over the course of the long drive, I began to wonder if I'd ever really been attracted to Rich at all. When I compared the way I'd felt about him with the way I felt about Jay (or even Ben Curtis) it was a very different sensation.

My relationship with Rich had seemed right on a practical level. We got along pretty well. He was doing a Masters in anthropology; we'd read the same books; enjoyed the same films; liked watching documentaries together. It all seemed to fit. I thought he was the kind of man I was meant to be with. We made a good match. But my love for him, because there's no doubt I did love him, was more intellectual than visceral.

Perhaps, I reminded myself as I passed the spot my car had broken down last time I was on that road, I was looking at it the wrong way around. Maybe the way I felt about Jay was just a shallow captivation. I didn't really know him after all. And what I did know told me that we were worlds apart, literally and figuratively. It was more animal attraction; lust rather than any deep affection. Just because he gave me the shakes didn't mean there was something profound between us.

By the time I pulled up to the ranch, I was sick of my own wondering mind.

Jay must have heard the car, because as I got out of it, he appeared from one of the barns. Dressed in jeans with yet more frayed holes in the knees, and a T-shirt that was drenched with sweat, he lifted a hand in greeting.

My heart lurched at the sight of him, hammering rapidly it seemed to leap into my throat. And muscles deep within me clenched. Yep, there was definitely animal attraction. The key question was lust all there was to it? Determined not to reveal how a mere glance of him turned me into a puddle of gibbering hormones, I silenced the naughty voice that practically pleaded for him to drag me into the barn he'd just come from and have his big, strong, hardy way with me.

There was no doubt in my mind; sex with him would be different from anything I'd ever experienced with old boyfriends. It would be energetic, vigorous, and maybe even a little rough. His coarse workman's hands would grab me. He'd force me to his sweat-coated skin, and he'd take me hard and fast.

Why did that turn me on so much? I'd never wanted it before. I'd wanted to be treated with respect, I'd wanted to be loved and taken care of. However, a sudden mental image of him thrusting me over a hay bale and entering me from behind moistened my underwear.

"Hey," I smiled; waving back at him while my eyes were transfixed by the way his shirt clung to him.

"Hi," he replied, approaching with long, confident strides. His raised arm stayed up and he swiped the forearm across his brow. "I'm glad you could come," he added.

Breathe, breathe. Not wanting to make a complete idiot of myself, I willed myself not to betray my secret, salacious thoughts. "Thanks for inviting me," I returned with more self-possession than I really had.

I was glad that I'd decided to go for a very casual look. Sneakers, jeans and a red and black plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. My hair was swept back in a ponytail, and I hadn't bothered with any make-up accept a little light foundation.

His gaze glided down the length of my body and he grinned. "You look good," he said, his voice low but, I liked to think, appreciative. "This is part of the 'when in Rome' philosophy?"

"Somethin' like that," I chuckled. "I seem to recall you saying something about beating the city out of me." I don't know what it was about him that turned me into a wise ass. Maybe it was the way my subconscious chose to mask my libidinous feelings. It all seemed pretty juvenile, though. Like pigtail-pulling at elementary school. Yet I was no more capable of stopping that then I was of ceasing the heat between my thighs.

"Right, yeah," he nodded. "Are you game, though?" Bright blue eyes widening in surprise, he cocked his head as he continued to study me.

"You had other plans?" I wondered.

"Well, I hadn't really given it much thought," he admitted. "But I figured we could have some lunch and then maybe go for a ride or...well, whatever you wanted to do really."

"You think I'm not cut out for it?" I responded, shutting the car door with a flick of my hip before folding my arms beneath my bosom. "Come on, cowboy, give me your best shot."

As stray beads of sweat rolled down his temple and meandered to his rugged jaw, he laughed. "Y'know, for an intelligent woman, you seem to have a bit of trouble retaining information. I am not a-"

"Cowboy," I interrupted. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," I jovially murmured. "Well, Mr. Stockman, I'm not as fragile as you think. So, bring it on." Was this bravado really fooling anyone?

If his subtle smirk was anything to go on, I definitely wasn't fooling him. He did seem to be enjoying this feisty to-and-fro, though. "Right," he sighed. "All right, you wanna know what it's like to work on an Aussie ranch? Come with me."

I followed the jerk of his head, pausing just long enough to notice that he had an exquisitely pert ass that those tight-fitting jeans hugged. I was envious of that denim.

First, he took me to one of the cattle barns and explained the huge feed bags that had just been delivered, and which sat on a large pallet beside the open doors, needed to be carried in and stacked up.

My upper body strength is nothing to write home about. But I'm no weakling, either, and I wasn't going to shy away from the challenge. So pushing my already rolled sleeves a little higher, I grabbed hold of one of the fifteen-kilo sacks. I ignored his chuckle as I struggled to lift it, and ignored his continued quiet laughter as I walked awkwardly into the barn.

I managed a grand total of three before he insisted that I stop.

"I'm fine," I told him tartly.

"You're gonna hurt yourself," he said with a soft smile rather than the smart-ass grin he had been wearing.

I was feeling pretty hot and bothered, my arms ached and there was a dull pain in my lower back. I didn't tell him about any of that, though. Instead, puffing a loud sigh, I turned and sat on the remaining bags.

"You know," I began softly, "there was something I wanted to ask you."

Mirroring my action and taking a seat next to me, he twisted his face to mine. "Shoot."

"What brought you to the university?"

As he brushed damp hair from his brow, the sun illuminated his glowing skin and highlighted the rivulets of sweat that rolled down his neck and bled into the collar of his shirt. "A friend of mine teaches business there," he explained. "He asked me to give a few lectures on modern agriculture business practices."

"Oh," I nodded, his words sinking in somewhere, but my mind predominantly fixed on his throat.

"He seemed to think it went pretty well," he added. "Reckons he might be able to offer me regularly work, just once a week or whatever."

"So?" I breathed. "I'd see more of you?"

"I hope, whether I'm at the uni every week or not, I'll see more of you," he replied simply and unaffectedly. "Now," he stated, slapping his thighs as he jumped back to his feet, "are you gonna admit defeat like the soft seppo you are?"

"Seppo?" I repeated, my head lifting indignantly and eyes set solidly on his.

"Septic tank," he uttered, slipping both hands deep in his pockets. "Yank."

"Charming," I muttered, getting up and wiping my hands over the dusty seat of my pants. That was one of the many colorful Australian rhyming slangs that I hadn't yet heard. "And I'm not admitting anything," I assured him sternly. "Come on, put me to work. I'll show you how soft I am."

Ours was a strange relationship, I realized that even at the time. He brought out two things in me that I didn't know existed. And I could never, even in my wildest dreams, have imagined they'd co-exist. A potent, heady, passionate sexual desire. And a petulant, childish desire to one-up or annoy him.

The latter he seemed to have for me, too. Of course, that didn't mean he also had the former. What I am sure of is that he demurred at my challenge. He didn't 'put me to work'.

"I've got a better idea," he said, before leading me to the stables.

Getting Tia from her stall, he tacked her up and helped me onto her back, then mounted another of his horses. I asked where we were going, but all he'd tell me was that he wanted to show me around the property.

Thankfully, I didn't need to 'ride' Tia as much as she just carried me. My direction not required or desired, she simply followed her master gently. And I soon began to relax. As it turned out, Jay's ranch was much more vast than I could have imagined. He led me down to a narrow, but freely running stream, where a group of his cattle had stopped to drink.

It was incredibly serene, and the heat of the sun was just starting to taper off. It was beautiful, and neither of us felt the need to say anything, not even a snide remark.

The peace didn't last, though. I heard hooves coming from somewhere over my right shoulder, and then I heard the shout.

"Oi, Anderson!"

Tia whinnied and tossed her head as I wrenched my face behind me.

Four men, all on horseback, all thickset, with dark hair and an unmistakable family resemblance where approaching fast.

"What the fuck are you doing on my land?" one of them, who seemed to be the oldest and who had a scar above his right eye, demanded.

The other men's horses moved hurriedly to form a circle around Jay and me. Panicked, I cast my eyes to my friend and knight in shining armor. I tried to figure out whether he looked worried. He wasn't relaxed that much was obvious.

"This is my land," Jay announced curtly. "My family's land and it has been for four generations."

"That's where your wrong, mate," another of the men chipped in. "This isn't your land, or your family's land. It's ours."

"I'm not gettin' into this again," Jay insisted.

"Then get your animals and your woman off our land," the first shouted.

More than a little unnerved, I cast my eyes carefully at each of the men, trying to assess the danger they posed. I would have been ready to head back right then and there, but Jay was not willing to back down.

"You, and your men, are the ones trespassing," he stated defiantly.

"I don't think you're getting it Anderson," a man with a thick bushy beard yelled, his palomino shuffling anxious hooves beneath him. "We're fucking serious." Abruptly reaching behind him, he grabbed something from the saddle and swung his arm back around. The sun glinted off the blade as he exposed what was more of a machete than a knife.

I sucked in a breath as the weapon was pointed toward me. Tia neighed and rocked back a little on her hind legs. Jay's horse surged forward. Placing himself between the man and me, he stuffed his hand into a pouch on the side of his own saddle.

"I'm serious, too," Jay tersely spat, freeing a pistol from its concealed place and aiming it directly at the other man's face. "Now, you be a sensible boy and put that thing away," he commanded. "We don't want anyone gettin' hurt now, do we?"

"Put it away, Greg," the older man gruffly insisted.

Greg, the guy with the knife, chewed his lip bitterly before finally lowering his weapon. As soon as he did, Jay followed suit.

"This isn't over, though," the leader of the group continued. "Not over by a fucking long way." With a jerk of his sullen head, he gave his companions an order, and they followed it.

For a long time, I watched them slowly retreat. It wasn't until I could no longer see them that I once again breathed.

"You all right?" Jay asked, leading his horse closer to me. Facing me, he pulled his ride to a stop when his leg was brushing mine. "Faith?" he added, reaching across and cupping my face in his large, hot hand. "Are you OK?"

"Yeah," I whispered, panting slightly. "Yeah, I'm OK." Meeting eyes that were so full of concern, I found my efforts to breathe thwarted again. There was such intensity in his gaze, a power and seriousness that was completely unanticipated.

And then another unexpected thing happened.

Slowly, he leaned closer. Frantically licking my lips, I knew what was coming, but couldn't quite believe my senses. His face continued to inch delicately nearer, I felt the whisper of his breath on my cheek, and all at once the warmth of his lips had over taken mine. The pressure was delightfully sweet; the scent of him was intoxicating. My head was spinning, and my lips parted with a quiet moan of need.

He didn't respond as I'd hoped, though. Gently withdrawing with nothing but a tender, almost apologetic, graze of his tongue across my bottom lip, he looked as though his actions had caught him equally unawares. "Um..." he mumbled, with a slight shake of his head. "We should probably head back."

I agreed with a nod that I hoped didn't look as disappointed as I felt.

On the way, he told me that the men were the Kings. A family with land that bordered Jay's family's property. Apparently, a dispute had been waging for some sixty years over where their land ended and Jay's began. Recently, that dispute had become more aggressive, and was one of the many reasons Jay's mom felt unable to remain at the ranch following her husband's death.

"I don't know why they can't get it through their thick heads," Jay muttered when we got back to the stable. Agile as ever, he slipped down from his horse easily before moving to help me. "Anyway," he sighed. "I'm sorry you got caught up in all that."

"Not your fault," I shrugged off quickly, lifting my left leg over the saddle and jumping down with rather less finesse than he had. He was there, however, to steady me.

"And I'm sorry about..." he mumbled, eyes not quite meeting mine. "I'm sorry that I..."

"Kissed me?" I wondered, baffled by his attempt to apologize for it.

"Yeah," he quietly uttered.

My hands feeling awkward by my sides, I quashed the urge to touch him. "Did I seem displeased with that turn of events?" I asked instead, flashing him a shy smile.

"Well, no," he admitted.

"That's because I wasn't," I assured him, marvelling at how unsure he suddenly seemed. Surely, women fell at his feet. He couldn't be unaware of the effect he had. He couldn't have been unaware of how I responded to him.

"So..." he said with a lopsided grin. "What would you say if I asked you to have dinner with me some time?"

"As in a date?" I replied with an arch of an eyebrow.

"Yeah," he nodded hesitantly. "Yeah, a date."

"Then, I'd say 'yes'," I responded, an unbidden smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

# Chapter Eight

The following Friday, I stood in front of the only full-length mirror in the house; the one in the hallway. Studying my reflection with nit-picking severity. Was my dress too much? Was it not enough? It was a semi-casual white and blue floral print with a scooped neckline, narrow straps, and a straight skirt that clung to my thighs and just reached my knees. Maybe I should have chosen something that showed a bit more cleavage. I'd gone light on the make-up, but what if he preferred a older Hollywood; vibrant red lips and dramatic eyeliner look? I strand of hair kept falling on my face, and no matter how many times I swept it back with the rest, it simply would not stay.

Huffing, I was about to rush back to my bedroom to get another burst of hairspray.

"Hey," Matt grumbled, pushing himself from his casual lean against the wall next to the mirror. "Where are you going?" he chuckled, grabbing my elbow and ceasing my attempt to scamper down the hall.

"I just wanna..." I replied, waving my hand around my head in a vague mime.

Releasing me, he folded his arms across his abdomen. "Why?" he scoffed. "You look great, that little bit of hair is sexy."

"Sexy?" I repeated incredulously, flashing another unimpressed glance at my reflection. "With the greatest of respect," I added, turning my attention only too willingly from the mirror and meeting his eyes. "How would you know?"

"You don't occasionally look at a woman and think she looks sexy?" he probed. "Besides, I don't need to have a craving to climb Mount Everest to know the bloody thing is massive."

Silently acknowledging his points, I sighed. "Are you sure I look OK?"

"You look grouse," he stated without equivocation.

"Grouse," I echoed. "And grouse is good?"

With an elaborate groan and eye roll, he laughed. "For God's sake woman, you look good enough to eat. The question is, is being eaten what you want?"

"I dunno," I murmured. "Maybe," I continued with a slight reluctance.

Did admitting that make me sound like a slut? But it had been nine months. No, it was even longer than that, because, for the last six weeks of my relationship with Rich, we hadn't slept together. It was starting to seem like a drought of epic proportions and, while self-love was something I'd never shied away from, the desire for much more than our power shower could offer had been growing exponentially louder from the day I met Jay.

"Is he legit?" he wondered, crinkling his eyes, one of which had a huge bruise from a rugby match earlier in the week.

"He seems like a nice guy," I replied. Of course, that didn't really answer the question. But then, I wasn't sure what the question was. Legit in terms of liking me? Legit in wanting more than just a quick grope? Well, I figured the answer was a 'yes' on both of those counts. But just how much Jay did want was a mystery to me. "I guess, we'll have to see how tonight goes."

"Well," he breathed, "have a good time, and give me a call if you need me to come and pick you up or anything."

"I'm sure I won't need you to," I assured him. "But thanks."

I leaned forward and, with the help of four inch heels, didn't need to stand on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. In turn, he wrapped strong arms around my waist and scooped me into a hug.

"You go get him," he said warmly before releasing me.

***

Jay picked me up, and we drove into Newcastle to a restaurant he said was owned by a good friend. I'd expected him to roll up in a pickup with mud all over the tires. In fact, he owned a white Infiniti Q50, which was strikingly clean and had gray leather interior. And he was similarly well turned out. A charcoal suit and an open-necked midnight blue shirt were teamed with parted hair that was that perfect combination of neat and scruffy that seemed effortless, but probably wasn't.

When we arrived at the restaurant, I assumed it must be closed, because the blinds were pulled down. However, Jay grinned at me as he pushed open an unlocked door and greeted his buddy with a typically masculine hug - full of firm slaps on the back.

As they said hello, I glanced about the place and noted that each and every single table was empty. There weren't even place settings laid out.

Then, as Jay turned and introduced me, I found that he'd been blocking the one table that was dressed. It was even topped off with a small yellow rose in the center. He must have seen my perplexed squint, because he began to laugh.

"Kenny's kindly agreed to let me have the whole place tonight," he explained, tugging out one chair and offering me the seat with a gallant gesture of his free hand.

Surprised by the generous favor, I flicked my attention to Jay's friend, a bear of a man with a shaggy beard and a Hawaiian shirt. "That's very kind of you," I told him.

"Not really," he insisted, cocking his head at Jay. "He paid for it."

My date's eyes dropped shyly and he once again signaled for me to sit. This time, I did. And, as his friend walked away, he grasped the other chair, which sat opposite me, and hauled it around until it was placed at my right.

"I don't like having the whole table between us," he explained. Although it was a small table, I sort of knew what he meant. As he sat, his long legs brushed mine, but neither of us felt the ridiculously need to pull away. It felt strangely natural.

"So?" I breathed. "Do you mind if I ask why we have the whole place to ourselves?"

With a grin and a shrug, he reached for the rose. Gripping it's stem, he twirled it in its vase. "Quieter," he offered by way of an answer. "More intimate," he added.

Something about the way he said 'intimate', more than the word itself and its meaning, caused my pelvic floor muscles to flutter wildly. "Well...um..." I murmured.

"You don't mind, do ya?" he wondered.

"No, no," I hurriedly assured him. "It was very thoughtful."

"No worries," he said with a small smile. "Anyway, how's school going?"

And just like that, we drifted into quiet, amiable conversation. I was more than a little surprised that he took a genuine interest in my thesis. At first, I figured it was feigned through politeness or simply an attempt to keep the close atmosphere between us, but when he started asking questions about it, that thought quickly left me.

In the meantime, we ordered our food and some wine. I was impressed that he insisted on having only half a glass, and when I told him I didn't feel comfortable drinking if he wasn't, he didn't push me to continue knocking back the booze.

So, I'd established that he wasn't faking an interest to get in my pants, and he wasn't trying to get me drunk. I liked this guy more and more.

"Will you be lecturing again?" I wondered over appetizers.

"Yeah," he nodded, placing his hand in front of his mouth as he swallowed a morsel of calamari. "Yeah, my mate wants me to do quite a bit this semester."

"That's good," I beamed, figuring that I would be able to meet him for lunches or coffees.

"Well, having an extra income stream is handy," he agreed, unaware of my meaning.

"You seem to be doing OK," I chuckled.

"Yeah, not bad," he conceded with a shrug. "Some seasons are better than others, though. We had a pretty tough winter this year."

"Then, it was naughty of you to go to all this trouble," I gently chided, indicating the empty restaurant around us with a quick circuit of my gaze.

"Well," he mumbled, the merest hint of a blush creeping into his tan cheeks. "I wanted to do somethin' special for you."

Releasing the hold I had on my fork, my brain had no say in the movement of my right hand. It slipped casually under the table and laid itself rather presumptuously on his thigh. The muscle beneath my palm was broad and strong, and I experienced vivid flashbacks of being squeezed between both of those athletic legs. Still functioning without my conscious input, my fingers rubbed him in a way that was decorous but unquestionably more familiar than I had a right to touch him.

He didn't seem offended. He didn't even some thrown by it. Smiling, he pushed that leg closer to me, causing his calf to stroke mine.

"You know what you wanna do when you get your doctorate?" he asked calmly, the conversation suddenly veered away from how our bodies were responding to each other.

It took me a little longer to collect myself sufficiently to reply. "Uh...I thought about teaching," I softly said. "But, I'd really like to get out in the field, take part in some excavations."

"Then you should," he stated simply.

When the main course arrived, I was faced with a choice between trying to eat one-handed or relinquishing my hold on Jay's leg. Eventually, I plumped for the latter, but it wasn't an easy decision to make.

As we ate, I asked him more about his family, and how often he got across the other side of the country to see his mom. It was obvious that, despite the distance, they were close.

"So," he sighed gently, resting his silverware neatly on an empty plate before dabbing sedately at the corners of his mouth with a napkin. "You're gonna be here for three years at least?"

Swallowing the last of my squid ink linguine, I nodded. "Yeah. It seems like a long time, but I guess it'll go fast."

"I think you're right," he quietly confirmed. "I think it'll go dead quick. But not too quick, I hope." Resting the arm closest to me on the table, he reached forward with his other hand and brushed that pesky strand of hair away from my face.

"Sorry," I muttered, annoyed at, and by, my stupid hair. "Was it bugging you?" Silently, I was cursing Matt for not letting me spray it back where it belonged.

"No," he smiled, shaking his head subtly. "No, it wasn't bugging me. I've just been fighting the urge to touch it ever since you answered your front door."

Either the heat from his leg was increasing or my core temperature was spiking, because the sensation of his touch, even with the fabric of his pants between us, seemed abruptly more oppressive. Yet, it wasn't a sensation that made me want to pull away. On the contrary, they were flames I would quite happily have danced in.

His face was so close. His lips so very near, and my own ached for the feel of them. However, he wasn't drawing any closer. After a few agonizing moments, during which I tried to will him to kiss me, I took the plunge. Leaning forward, I closed the gap between us.

My mouth brushed hesitatingly at his, fearing that he might pull away. It was ridiculously unfounded, though. And as his lips gently started to press temptingly back at mine, I determined not to wait for him to deepen the kiss this time. Recklessly, I sucked his lower lip into my mouth.

A deep, husky groan escaped him, rippling through our joined mouths. And then, carefully and with exquisite deliberateness he licked at my upper lip with just the barest whisper. I moaned in turn and forewent revelling in the remnants of the rich lobster sauce from his dinner in favor of sinking my tongue into the depths of his warm, inviting mouth.

I felt and heard him chuckle as my invading tongue swept over the surface of his velvety soft one. And then, his began to slowly entwine with mine. Smoothly, his tongue moved in ardent, teasingly sensual strokes. And very quickly the only thought in my head was that of having another part of his body move within me like that. Feeling my heartbeat thundering, and my breathing become shallower, I pulled back slightly.

"Do...you wanna come back to mine?" I asked, so quietly I barely even heard myself.

Jay had no trouble hearing me, though. "Isn't Matt there?" he wondered softly, his hand slipping under the table and gently curling around my left knee.

I shivered at the sensation of his touch, and struggled to swallow. "Yeah, but your place is much further away," I pointed out with barely disguised desperation.

A mischievous and knowing grin spread across his gorgeous face. "I know somewhere close," he whispered, his fingers stroking small circles on the back of my knee. "If you're sure you want to."

I'd never wanted anything as much in my entire life.

# Chapter Nine

Jay kept one arm around my waist, where it had remained from the moment I got out of his car, as he swiped a key card at the suite's door. With a click it opened, and he gave it a shove with his right foot.

"After you," he insisted, placing a little pressure on the small of my back.

With a flirtatious grin, I reached behind me and grasped his wrist. "You come here often?" I wondered as I walked backward through the open door tugging him gently with me.

"Not often," he replied, needing only minimal encouragement to remain mere inches from me.

That was a pretty unspecific answer, but then I'd asked a pretty unspecific question. However, I quickly dismissed the possibility of posing a more probing question. The truth is, it was none of my business, and it didn't matter anyway. His life was exactly that: his.

Smoothly disentangling his arm from my grip, he placed both hands on my waist. I held my breath, waiting for him to pull me to him. But he didn't. Instead, his sure, strong hands clasped me tenderly and twisted me around.

I lifted my eyebrows in question, but didn't voice the, 'what are you doing?' That was swirling through my mind. As I allowed myself to be guided by his warm hands, my jaw dropped.

In front of me was a living space, with two overstuffed couches and a low coffee table between them. Sitting elegantly on the table was a ice bucket with a bottle of champagne resting within. Next to that was a vase with a dozen red roses.

"Wow," I breathed, "you've thought this through, haven't you?" I didn't bother to face him as I posed the query.

"Well," he hedged, uncertainty creeping into the edges of his voice just as it did when he first met Matt. At all other times, from the moment I first saw him, he has been self-assured, calm and ready with a quip or two.

I liked that strong, confident stockman. But there was also something utterly adorable about the guy who was slightly vulnerable and insecure. Although, I had no idea what he had to be insecure about.

Turning back to face him, I reflexively lifted my hands to his chest and slid my palms gently up and down the lapels of his suit jacket. "What?" I asked with a small smile.

I was immensely grateful that he placed his arms around my waist and tugged me into a loose embrace.

"I wanted to..." he began, pausing to laugh at himself. "See, the thing is, I don't get a lot of practice at the romance thing," he admitted. It was a statement I found difficult to believe, but I remained quiet and let him continue. "Is it too much?" he wondered.

"No," I offered simply.

"I just wanted to make everything nice, y'know?"

"It is nice," I assured him. "It's really, really nice."

His smile growing more comfortable as it broadened, he dipped his face closer to mine. "I thought you must be used to being wined, dined, and wooed."

"Wooed?" I replied, snickering lightly. "Nope, can't say I've ever been wooed. There hasn't been a whole lot of wining and dining, either."

"Really?" he breathed, his lips so close to mine that the whisper of the word grazed my cheek.

"Really," I confirmed, wondering how I was still able to reply to him at all. My mind was a jittery, flighty mess of hormones. "I'm not used to being spoiled like this."

His lips so close I could almost taste them, but still far too far away for my liking, he tightened his grip on me. "If you ask me, that's criminal," he mumbled before finally pressing his delicate mouth to my own.

I whimpered softly and couldn't prevent the natural inclination to arch against him. My hands glided all the way to his broad shoulders, and then entwined at the nape of his neck. Tugging him just that little bit closer, I parted my lips in a silent invitation that he quickly responded to.

His wonderfully agile tongue moved swiftly into my mouth, playfully stroking my taste buds and then drawing intimately across palate. It felt alien to have another person's tongue move over the roof of my mouth, and I realized that's because it was a first. Well, it was the first time anyone had deliberately tasted me that way; there had been times when fanatic, clumsy or drunken French kissing had resulted in an accidental sampling of my soft palate. Those instances had usually accompanied barely restrained gagging as the tongue in question was being pushed further than the limit of comfort.

What seemed strange and almost comical to me was that I had imagined him being so very different. I had envisaged this big, strong guy being sexually aggressive. After all, he was rugged; he was a cowboy (my interpretation of one anyway).

Yet, if his kiss was anything to form an opinion on, his approach to sex was distinctly unaggressive.

With a subtle suck of my lip, he pulled back before releasing it. "Do you want some champagne?" he wondered, his voice seeming deeper and syrupy.

"Maybe later," I whispered, surrendering my hold of his neck for only one reason: to push the suit coat from his shoulders.

His grin widened as he unfurled his arms from my waist just long enough to allow the jacket to fall to the floor behind him. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, his expression not suggesting that he had any doubts himself. "I don't wanna rush you," he added sincerely, though.

This was not something that had ever happened to me before. That question had never been raised, and again it smacked of an underlying insecurity in him that I couldn't quite understand.

"How can I make it more clear to you that I want this?" I wondered softly, my fingers pulling at his shirt buttons. "I want this very much," I added emphatically. Inch by inch, I methodically exposed his chest. Marveling, as my hands worked of their own volition, at the silky smoothness of his bronzed torso. His pecs were solid and sleek. The muscles of his stomach were rigid. There was almost no spare fat to be found. At his taut belly, there was a subtle trail of light brown hair, which led into the waistband of his pants.

So mesmerized by the sight of him, I didn't realize his arms had swept back around me until I felt his hands suddenly grasp both of my buttocks. Reflexively arching into him, I giggled before shoving frustratedly at his gaping shirt.

"I want this, too," he breathed dipping his face until his cheek rested against my temple. "God, Faith, you have no idea how much I want it." Delicately, his large hands slid upward, caressing the base of my spine. The tips of his fingers brushed the zipper of my dress, and then slowly traced it all the way up to the clasp that rested between my shoulder blades.

While he was occupied, I continued to urge him to let me go long enough to rid him of his shirt, but he seemed in no particular hurry. And, eventually, I gave up the fight in favor of sinking my face into the expanse of chest I did have access to. Desperately, I kissed his collarbone and then the small hollow between them. His skin was almost scalding hot, and he tasted inexplicable good. It was not a taste I could define; not one I'd ever sampled before. There was delicate sweetness, but there was something so intensely earthy and masculine to it, too. I quickly decided that it was my favorite flavor in the world, as the tip of my tongue escaped my mouth and licked at his sternum.

He, meanwhile, was pulling gently at my zip. As the bodice of the dress fell loose, the straps slipped languidly from my shoulders. I felt them creep to my upper arms, and then came the glorious sensation of his calm, assured hands helping them the rest of the way.

I happily shifted, lifting my hands from the garment and allowing him to make his same easy way over the dip of my waist, and the contours of my hips. Slipping his fore and middle fingers inside the bunched dress around my middle, he gave it a delicate push, leaving gravity to take over.

As the dress fell in a puddle around my feet, and I was left in nothing but my bra and panties, I hurriedly returned to shedding his shirt. This time, he was more cooperative. In fact, he was more than cooperative, shucking it without much input from my hands.

Stunned silent by the unrestricted view of a torso that could not have been more perfect if it had been sculptured, most of my body was entirely motionless. I say most, because the pounding of my pulse at the roof of my mouth reminded me that my heart was still active; and there was also the subtle quivering of muscles deep within me.

His hands quickly and instinctive moving back to my waist, their impressive size enabled the edge of his index fingers to brush lightly at the outer curves of my covered breasts. The sensation caused my already alert nipples to strain painfully at the black satiny lace bra. Suppressing the ardent need to beg him to touch them, I bit down on my lower lip.

"Come with me," he urged, with a soft nudge of his head to the connected bedroom.

I was moving before he'd even finished making the request, stepping out of my dress and kicking off my shoes. Much shorter than him, I lifted my face in silent solicitation.

He granted it immediately. Sweeping forward, he claimed my hungry mouth passionately. The kiss continued with unrestrained moans of need, as we shuffled into the bedroom - me moving backward, and trusting him implicitly to guide me.

His hands moved heatedly, but respectfully, over my hips, around to my buttocks then up my back. My own fingers were rather less polite in their attempts to know him better. I revelled in the strong muscles of his shoulders. I whimpered as I groped biceps that were large without making him look deformed.

A tender touch slipped under the clasp of my bra, letting me know he was there and what he planned to do. And like a perfect gentleman, he waited a couple of moments, giving me the option to say 'no'. I had no intention of declining. In fact, as far as I was concerned, the bra couldn't be lost quickly enough.

And, as if to express that to him, my tongue grew ever more restless as it moved over his lips and dipped into his mouth. My hands too grew frantic as they grasped his belt.

Still calm, and annoyingly smooth in his motion, Jay gracefully popped my bra open and slowly slid his hands to my shoulders. His mouth left mine and began nibbling at my neck, as he swept the black straps down my arms.

With his belt unfastened, I left my hold of his pants to toss my bra aside. And for a split second, it was as though my breasts weren't bared to him for the first time. Momentarily, in the heat of my desire, I forget that the sight of me was new to him; that I didn't know what his reaction would be. Would he like what he saw? Were they too small for his taste?

Those brief moments of frenetic self-doubt ended as quickly as they had begun. Jay's large, tender hands quickly surrounded the twin globes, his thumbs stroking evenly across keen nipples.

"Oh, God, Faith," he mumbled, lips meandering back up my throat and across my jaw before finding my very willing mouth. "You're beautiful," he whispered before pressing his lips to mine.

His fingers molded softly, feeling the weight of both breasts, and stirring yet more excitement from my already painfully peaked nipples.

My own hands grew so shaky they were almost useless as I unfastened his pants and brushed inadvertently at the scorching hot bulge in his underwear. He twitched slightly in response, I groaned against his mouth and he immediately tore it away.

Smiling into eyes that pleaded with him to put his lips back to their previous use, he dipped forward. His left cheek stroked at the inner curve of one breast, the tip of his nose grazed my sternum lightly. And then, those warm, passionate lips kissed the swell of my bosom. Giving way for his inquisitive mouth, his right hand released the breast it had been caressing and skated down to my hip.

My hand stroked over the intimidating erection that seemed to fight for freedom. Slowly, I enjoyed the heat of him before finding the opening in his tight boxers and seeking a better appreciation of his manhood.

"Ahh," I involuntarily groaned, as his tongue skipped over one stiff nipple.

His long, throbbing cock was silky smooth, broad and rock hard. Clasping him gently, I ran my fingers from its velvety soft tip to a thick base surrounded by short, coarse hair. God, he felt good. A rush of desire reminded me how empty my body felt; how much I wanted to feel him stretching me.

"Jay," I whimpered, beginning to methodically rub him.

His mouth busy sucking my nipple into its avid warmth, he didn't reply. At least, not with words. The hand at my hip seemed to answer me by sweeping around to my belly and inching tentatively into my panties.

I shivered as his touch smoothed over my mound, and my hips bucked as his long, dexterous fingers slowly met my passion-inflamed lips. And then, I released an uncontrolled yelp as he instantly found my engorged clitoris.

Hand going sudden motionless, but not leaving my underwear, or my hungry flesh, he lifted his face. "Y'all right?" he wondered with a subtle grin.

"Yeah," I breathed, nodding frantically. I quickly dismissed the notion of explaining my lurch of surprise by telling him that my ex wouldn't have known a clitoris if it jumped up and bit him. It was not the time to talk about another guy. It was not the time to be thinking of another guy, either. "Yeah, yeah..." I continued to gabble instead. "That's...Oh, God!" His fingers still, my body had begun to stroke itself against him in a way that I may have been ashamed of at any other time in my life. While he looked at me with that sexy intensity, a smile pulling at his gorgeous lips, I wasn't in the least bit apologetic for seeking pleasure from his hand.

And if there had been any lingering doubt that he would judge me for it, it evaporated when he began to press his coarse workman's fingertips more firmly to that sweetest of spots, and move in deliberately strident circles.

His other hand still absentmindedly fondling my left breast, he leaned forward until his forehead was resting against mine. His soft breath seemed remarkably even compared with my labored panting.

"Good?" he wondered with a chuckle.

"Oh, God," I whimpered, feeling a coiling tension in my belly that was causing me to grow rigid.

I hadn't had a wealth of sexual experience; there had been just two lovers in my life, and neither of them had been especially concerned with whether or not I achieved climax. It had certainly never been their first order of business. So it seemed all the more surprising to me that this man, who I'd deemed (in a way that is unflatteringly snobby) less sophisticated than my previous boyfriends, was the only one to put my enjoyment before his own.

While my right hand continued to masturbate him somewhat distractedly, my left hand clung to his shoulder as I felt the world beginning to shrink.

"Jay," I gasped as the fluttering of subtle spasms began to shake me.

Calmly, he continued to stroke me in that same strong, measured rhythm. There was no attempt to rush the inevitable finish. "Faith," he whispered, in a way that was so intensely intimate and oozing with sexuality.

Sensory overload threatening, I closed my eyes as the rush swept me up in a torrent of quivering. "Yes...Yes!" I cried. "Ugh, Jay!"

His hand didn't leave me and his fingers didn't stop tending to my highly aroused, slick flesh until the stiffness left my features and limbs. Slowly, as I opened my eyes, I found his blue ones burning brightly into mine. Something undefined and inexplicable, passed between us, and a heated whirlwind of motion sent us both tumbling down to the bed.

He pulled at my underwear rather less gracefully than his usual way. I shoved his pants and boxers off his hips. He kissed me deeply. He rolled on top of me with his erection nudging at my thigh.

And then suddenly, he stopped. Gasping for breath, he broke free of my mouth and pulled himself up a little. Then, rolling onto his hip, he kicked off his shoes and hurriedly swept his clothes down his legs. However, before tossing the pants to the floor, he dug a hand into one pocket. It re-emerged with a square of foil between his index finger and thumb.

My chest heaving, and legs slightly parted, I watched him intently as he ripped open the condom and slipped the circle of latex over the crest of his shaft. Quickly, and with great ease, he rolled it down to the base before turning his attention back to me.

"Ready?" he asked, his hands settling on the mattress either side of me and his body hovering over mine.

I parted my thighs and wrapped one leg around the base of his spine. My hands swept around his neck and I pulled him to me. "I've never been more ready in my life," I told him huskily.

That was the only answer he needed. Mouth descending feverishly to mine, his hips drove forward and he began to stretch my willing entrance. I moaned around his invading tongue, the sensation of surrender never having felt quite so exquisite before.

With control, he forced himself a little deeper, and my core continued to swell in welcome. Deeper still, and he was further than anyone else had been. Yet, my body continued to crave him. Finally, with a long, loud exhale, he lifted his face as his hips nestled against mine.

My passage pulsed around him, muscles contracting at unfamiliar fullness. "Jesus," I hissed.

"Damn, Faith," he mumbled. "You're so sexy."

Peering up at his tense jaw, I tossed my other leg around him and squeezed him tightly. His jaw relaxed just long enough for him to grin at me. And then, his features were set in concentration again. Bracing himself on those strong arms, he began to thrust.

Each smooth, gliding stroke sent spikes of pleasure right up to the top of my head. Every one of his deep grunts and gravelly groans of pleasure made me feel invincible. I mewled quietly beneath him, my hands indulging in the play of muscles in his upper back. My body was gaining a sheen of perspiration. My sex was wondering where this glorious sensation had been all my life.

And entirely unexpectedly, I felt a burgeoning orgasm building low in my abdomen. Arching my hips, I heightened the friction between his pubic bone and my clit. Meeting each of his drives with an eager counter thrust, my lower half grew restless in its motion.

"God," he quietly grunted, his hips slamming against me harder than before.

Clenching him more intently between my thighs, the ecstasy pulled me under in a flash of color and a mind-numbing rush of blood to the head. "Ahh," I screamed, my entire body shaking furiously. "Oh, Jay!"

My passage clamped around him in fierce, mercilessly grasps that caused him to stop motionless deep within me. "Christ," he whispered hoarsely, his eyelids squeezing tight before his lower half spasmed once, twice, and a third time. "Faith," he groaned, his hips beginning to move in lazy circles that almost caused a fresh wave of euphoria.

As it turned out, his inadvertent massage of my ripe clitoris wasn't quite enough to send me into oblivion for a third time, but it was enough to make my eyes slip back and nonsense words of gratitude to slip from exhausted lips.

# Chapter Ten

With wide eyes and an even wider smile that I couldn't dismiss no matter how hard I tried, I watched him sleep. His features were incredibly handsome, and kind of boyish, in relaxation. He was laid on his left side, one arm casually draped across my waist. His hair was a little messy and I had to fight the urge to brush a few strands off his forehead.

Sex had never been like that before. And it wasn't just because he obviously knew a thing or two about female anatomy. It was something else; something that existed between us that I'd never felt with another man. Had he felt it with another woman? I knew those thoughts would only lead to unhappiness and raging self-doubt, but I couldn't stop them.

Was I any different from the unknown number of women he'd had in the past?

I couldn't bring myself to believe that I meant nothing to him. He'd waited too long, and been far too romantic for the whole thing to have been just a meaningless screw. He hadn't pressed me into it, either. I'm almost certain that if I'd asked him to take me home after dinner, and left him with only a kiss by the front door, he wouldn't have dreamed of pushing for more.

What that made clear to me was that he wasn't a player who held nothing but disdain and lust for women. But it didn't tell me how I ranked in his esteem compared with those who had come before me.

Just because he treated the ladies he bedded like...well, like ladies, didn't mean that he felt some intense attachment.

I did, though. I felt an attachment that I hadn't bargained on, and one that I had never felt before. And that was bad on two counts. For one thing, I'd planned to focus on my studies, and falling in love wasn't exactly conducive to that. And for another, I didn't know whether he felt the same way.

Although, I reminded myself, at dinner he'd seemed interested in the amount of time I'd be spending in Australia. Those three years seemed important, as though getting involved with me wouldn't be just some summer fling.

As the thoughts continued to whirl, and sleep seemed further off than it had before, I tried to take my eyes off him, worried that if he woke up and found me staring at him, he might think I was some psychopath.

But that was easier said than done, too.

After a few failed attempts to close my eyes, I carefully slid away from him, lifting his arm gently in the process. Once I'd scooted far enough to be out of reach, I laid his hand back down and slipped out of the bed completely.

Silently, I wandered in the darkness, not bothered about my nudity until I got back into the suite's living space and trod on Jay's shirt.

Without conscious thought, I bent, scooped it up and slipped my arms into the soft sleeves. As I buttoned it, I inhaled, breathing in the sweet scent that was not only inextricably him, but would, from that moment on, be inextricably linked with memories of that night. Smiling, despite my concerns, I padded toward the couch before pausing to pick up my purse and retrieve my phone from it.

I don't really know what I intended to do. I certainly wasn't going to call any one. Agenda less, I slumped down on the cozy corner of the couch and tapped on the screen to wake it. Through habit, I went to my emails, and noticed that Laura had sent me a picture of the kitten she'd just adopted. She'd always wanted a cat, and couldn't have one while we lived together, because I was allergic.

Automatically moving on to the next unread message, my eyes didn't stray long enough on the address to register exactly what it was. Instead, my eyes focused on: Dear Ms. Solano,

I'm writing to let you know that a spot has opened on my PhD program in the coming academic year, and, because I was very intrigued by your proposal, I'd like to offer the place to you. I realize at this point you may have begun your doctoral studies elsewhere, and if that's the case, any credits you've accrued can be transferred. If you're interested, please contact me at your earliest convenience.

Prof. Calhoun (Yale University, dept. of Ancient History)

Not sure whether I was still breathing or not, I stared hard at the screen. Yale. Yale had been my first choice. I'd been desperate to get into Yale. This was all I'd wanted for several years. Yet, I wasn't sure whether I was excited or not.

After all, attending Yale would mean leaving Australia; leaving Jay. And I was no longer sure that was what I wanted. But, it was Yale. How could I pass up an opportunity like that?

Hearing the soft clearing of a throat, I quickly sent my phone to sleep and dropped it on the coffee table. Peering over the back of the couch, I found him completely naked and running one sleepy hand through his scruffy hair.

"Y'know," he murmured lazily, "a less secure guy might be troubled by the fact that you're out here on your phone."

"I wasn't on my phone," I insisted quietly. "I was just having trouble sleeping."

"Oh," he nodded, his eyes slowly starting to come into wakefulness as he drew closer. Completely unconcerned with the soft sway of his flaccid penis.

To him it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to be unclothed in front of me. I wasn't sure, without the intoxication of lust, I could be quite as relaxed in my own nakedness, but I loved the fact that he was.

"Well, a less secure guy might be troubled by that, too," he pointed out jokingly as he sat himself next to me and instinctively placed a hand on my bare knee. "Are you OK?" he asked with a degree of seriousness.

"I'm fine," I assured him with a definite nod of my head. "I was just thinking."

"About?" he probed, his fingers drawing delightful circles over my kneecap.

Not wanting to tell him about either of the two things that were weighing on my thoughts, I attempted to shrug it off. "It's nothin'," I mumbled.

His brow creased and eyes narrowed. "Faith, listen, I..." taking a pause, he shook his head before starting again. "Faith, if I've done something-"

"No," I hurriedly corrected him, turning my upper body until I was facing him. "No, it's nothing you've done, I promise. It was...It was..." Groping for the word, I eventual whispered, "Perfect."

Giving me what looked like a somewhat bashful half smile, he continued to stroke my leg. "Not too perfect, I hope," he said softly.

"Can it be too perfect?" I wondered.

"I think it would be a shame if we've already peaked," he noted, his fingers sliding higher, but halting at my mid-thigh.

There was no misconstruing that statement. He wanted more than just a quick fling. How long our relationship would last, well neither one of us could predict that, but it was clear he wasn't going into this with his eyes on the exit. And if that was the case, then I was ready to open my heart to the possibility of getting hurt. Realistically, I already had, but I wasn't ready to admit that.

"Faith, it was perfect," he added on a whisper. "Most perfect thing I've known in a long time. And I'd like to hope that you and I could give this a crack, and see just how perfect we could be together."

There was no mistaking the earnestness in his clear blue eyes, and I felt the sudden need to lick at very dry lips.

"What d'ya say?" he asked, hesitantly. "Are we gonna take a leap of faith together this time?"

"Yes," I murmured instantly, the answer coming from some intrinsic place that did not even consider Yale.

The more reasonable side of me, meanwhile, said I still had time. I had a chance to take a throw of the dice with Jay. And, if things didn't work out over the coming few months...actually, no, I didn't like that train of thought. In that moment, all that mattered was the man beside me.

Leaning toward him, I was heart-warmed when he mirrored the motion and met my lips halfway. Yes, that was all that mattered. Yale had done me a favor in rejecting me. And I wasn't going to turn my back on the serendipity that turn of events had presented me with.

"Coming back to bed?" he quietly asked, lips still brushing mine.

"Hmm," I agreed.

"I might have a way to help you sleep," he added saucily.

I had absolutely no difficulty in believing him!

### To be continued...

### Thank you for reading!

Please visit your favorite ebook retailer to view the next books in this series.

#  The Escort Next Door

by

Clara James

Copyright © 2013 by Clara James

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The Escort Next Door

All rights reserved.

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. No part of this work may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording and faxing, or by any information storage and retrieval system by anyone but the purchaser for their own personal use.

This Book may not be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of Clara James, except in the case of a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages for the sake of a review written for inclusions in a magazine, newspaper, or journal—and these cases require written approval from Clara James prior to publication. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

# Chapter One

Time With Friends

Paul and I had known Ben and Linda for a long time, long enough to make me feel 'old'. In fact, it was through us that the pair met. Linda had been a close friend of mine when we were both part-time clerks in an accountancy firm. She was working her way through college; I was expecting my first child.

Ben on the other hand was a friend of Paul's; they'd met at the gym and often played basketball together. Ben and Linda were eventually brought together when Paul and I threw a housewarming party. The rest as they say, is history.

"Why don't we do this more often?" Linda asked, as she offered to refill my wine glass.

"No, thanks," I politely declined. "I guess life just gets in the way," I added in response to her other question. Life really had gotten in the way, it had been over eighteen months since we'd seen Ben and Linda and in that time, we'd moved again; Paul's father had retired and Paul had taken over as CEO of the family business.

"I can imagine how busy you've been," she chuckled.

"You don't know the half of it," Paul chimed in. He was reaching for his own full glass and leaning causally back in his chair. His scarlet tie had been pulled loose enough for him to undo the top button of his shirt. The jacket of his charcoal suit had long since been removed and draped across the back of the chair. I tried to remember the last time I'd seen him that relaxed, but couldn't. He smiled broadly, that grin that never failed to light up the room. "You know, I thought life would be easier not harder once I was the boss," he added, the index finger of his free hand rubbing at his temple.

Ben laughed loudly, looping his hand over the back of Linda's chair and gently caressing her upper arm with the tips of his fingers. "I'm glad," he managed to blurt. "If being the owner of a multimillion dollar company is a walk in the park, then you're going to make me vomit."

Paul's laugh was muted, but he did shrug good-naturedly at Ben's teasing. "You're doing all right," he added, a touch defensively.

Ben tossed his bright blue eyes to Linda and they shared a silent smile. Eventually, he turned his attention back to my husband and nodded. "We're getting by. There are things I'd like to do, though," he added, his fingers stroking the stem of his wine glass. "I'd love to be able to treat Linda more. You know, I mean you can just whisk Julia away whenever, wherever. Money's never an issue."

"Yeah," Paul acknowledged, "money isn't the issue; it's time." As he shifted his left leg, his knee brushed mine and, even after almost fourteen years together, I felt a spark of electricity.

My face tipped towards his and I wondered if he felt it too. However, there was nothing in his face or his eyes that gave it away. Instead, he continued talking about how insanely busy he always is and the fact that he spends half his time traveling. I was tempted to correct him to three quarters of the time, but it seemed like a petty remark and I knew it would only anger him.

"That must be tough," Linda said sympathetically. "But you guys are such a strong couple," she added brightly. "I don't know anyone else who's still happily married to their high school sweetheart."

I smiled at her, before turning that grin on Paul. His eyes however were drawn to his glass, which he quickly drained.

We'd been sixteen, both starting our junior year, when I moved schools. At the time, I'd thought it was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. I distinctly remember hating my parents that summer. But in my very first class at my brand new school, I met Paul. I knew nothing about him, had no idea about his family business or how wealthy his parents were. All I knew was he was the most handsome guy I'd ever seen. Dark hair and deep brown eyes, tall, athletic, with a warm smile. The more I learned, the more I liked. He wasn't just a pretty face or a mindless jock, he had a brain too.

I, on the other hand, had issues. I was a bit too thin, a lot too flat-chested, ignored by the popular crowd and socially quite awkward. I'd felt sure that Paul didn't even know I existed. Little did I know that he had, indeed, been taking an interest in me. It wasn't until years later that he confessed to sneaking peaks at me during rehearsals with the dance team. Anyway, at the time, I was oblivious and so completely shocked when he asked me out on a date.

Those years had been magical, I was so in love with this man and giddy at the realization that he felt the same way. It was like every single one of those teenage romances I'd seen in the movies.

"I think it's wonderful," Linda commented, pulling me from my memories.

"Yeah," I agreed, nodding. "It is wonderful." Another glance at Paul found him examining the desert menu. "I mean, I know it's old fashioned," I added, "but I love that Paul is and always will be the only one."

"Hmm," he hummed in reply, his eyes still staring at the menu.

Giving up on attempts to get his attention, my own face dropped catching a glimpse of the cleavage that had been enlarged by three pregnancies. In many ways, I was physically more attractive than I had been at sixteen; my boyish figure now had some womanly curves, my breasts were significantly bigger and I felt much more comfortable in my skin. Wasn't that supposed to exude confidence and make me glow? Perhaps the problem was, I didn't feel very confident. Although I liked what I saw in the mirror, Paul always seemed to look right through me.

I'm not naïve enough to expect champagne and roses. I realize that the realities of day-to-day life don't lend themselves to the romance of teenage fantasies. There were other more important things; business trips to go on; a mortgage to pay; children to look after. I just wished that didn't mean my relationship with Paul had to come last on the list.

"Anyway," I sighed, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with the silence. "How are things at work?" I asked.

Linda nodded as she swallowed a mouthful of wine and replaced her glass on the table. "It's busy," she replied. "I've got two new clients and I'm trying to wrangle a good deal for them both." After studying literature at college, Linda had toyed with writing for a year or so. Eventually, she'd decided that she wanted to try something different and became a literary agent. A choice that turned out to be incredibly lucrative for her. "I'm thinking of slowing down a bit, though," she added.

"Really?" I asked, confused. I knew she loved her job and also knew that she and Ben were saving to build their own beachfront property.

"Yeah," she said, turning to her husband as if seeking permission. Ben gave no obvious sign one way or the other, but Linda could clearly read something in his eyes that I couldn't, because she grinned before gabbling, "We're trying for a baby."

"Oh," I smiled. "That's great."

"We've been thinking about it a lot lately," Ben offered, with a broad grin of his own. "We see you two with your little family and we just think..." he inhaled slowly, trying to find the right words. "Well, we want that too," he sighed.

I tried to smile, feeling instantly guilty for my rather self-pitying thoughts. What Paul and I had was enviable. I was in an enviable position, I had no business wishing things were different. "Well, I'm sure you'll make wonderful parents," I said.

Noticing Paul move out of the corner of my eye, I turned my face and watched him lift his glass, which now only had a small swill of red wine in the bottom. "Enjoy all that sex while you can, man," he joked, offering the glass toward Ben.

Ben laughed heartily tapping his own glass to Paul's. "Thanks," he chuckled.

Linda giggled too, her slender arm snaking around Ben's neck as she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "It's exciting," she blurted, turning back to me and leaving a red lipstick print on her husband's face.

I guessed she was expecting a reply, but with a false grin plastered on my face, I couldn't help but turn Paul's remark over and over in my mind. On the one hand, I wondered if I was being oversensitive. On the other, I felt that he'd taken a very personal swipe at me in front of our friends. Maybe, I silently suggested, his poor attempt at humor is nothing more than a bit of bravado. After all, I'm not the one that seems to have lost an interest in sex. He's always shunning any kind of intimacy, because he's 'too tired', or he 'has to get up early in the morning' or 'one of the children might walk in'.

"It's crazy to think that you were pregnant with Lizzie when we first met," Linda continued. "And she's what now? Seven?"

"Eight in a couple of months," I replied, automatically. I'd been unaware of even processing what she'd said let alone formulating a reply.

"Ahh," she cooed. "Next time we meet up, you'll have to bring the kids along, too."

"Yeah," Ben agreed. "It's been far too long since we've seen them. And I'm willing to bet that Dylan's becoming quite the little football player."

Our son was four going on forty. Bright and precocious, he had such an adult view of life. He takes after his father in many ways and had already decided that he wanted to be a professional athlete. Which sport, he was yet to decide. He told me that he needed to grow into his body to find out what he'd be best suited to.

"That's the difficult thing about being away for days and sometimes weeks at a time," Paul said, tossing the desert menu to one side and joining the conversation fully. "Every time I come back, they've all grown so much. Especially little Kate," he adds, shaking his head in disbelief. "One minute she was a baby, now she's a toddler already."

"They must miss you when you're away," Linda offered warmly.

"We all do," I replied, turning my eyes on him and, for the first time that night, receiving some recognition from him.

He flashed me a quick grin, and I momentarily saw the man I'd fallen in love with. It's those precious seconds that I treasured. Those were the times when I knew that deep down he was still the same and, therefore, on some level at least, _we_ must be the same. He opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, but the words were never spoken. Instead, he was interrupted by the waitress, who asked whether anybody wanted desert.

Linda, Ben and Paul eagerly turned to her and ordered. I had no appetite for it.

# Chapter Two

Drunk

It was me that had to drive home, after Paul consumed another three glasses of wine and a small Scotch and soda. The journey was reasonably short and was passed in mostly silence. I tried to draw him into conversation, commenting on how nice it was to see them again and how happy they both seemed. However, all I received was a grunt of agreement or indifference – it was hard to tell which, perhaps it was a bit of both.

When we got home, he immediately headed upstairs. Leaving me to thank and pay the sitter. After showing her out and watching at the door to make sure she got to her car okay, I made my own way up the stairs. Turning left on the landing, I tiptoed down the hallway, checking on each of the children before finally retracing my steps and wandering into our bedroom.

Paul was sitting in the high-backed, antique chair in the corner. He was leaning back, his legs spread casually wide and swaying slightly. One elbow was perched on the mahogany arm of the chair, his head dropped against his fist. With drooping eyelids, he looked at me.

"Becky is worried she's done something to upset you," I muttered, tossing my purse on the dressing table and kicking my three-inch heels off.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because you walked right past her and didn't say a word," I explained frustrated that it was necessary for me to do so.

His head suddenly straightening, he leaned forward, resting both arms on his knees. "Come over here," he said, his voice rumbling deeply in his chest.

I turned to face him, my hand reaching for one of the oak poles at the foot of our four-poster bed. "Did you hear what I said?" I asked wearily, perching my free hand on my hip.

"Yeah, yeah," he replied dismissively, his fingers grabbing the loose knot of his tie and pulling it free. He left it hanging around his neck and unclasped a button on his shirt which revealed some of the silky smooth skin of his chest. "Now, get over here," he repeated, cocking his head.

"Paul," I sighed. "I like her, she's great with the kids and she's always been very accommodating when we've needed her at the last minute. I don't want to lose her."

He rolled his heavy eyes as dramatically as his sluggish movements would allow. "Don't you think you're overreacting," he muttered.

"What I think," I replied tartly, "is that you were incredibly rude."

"She's the hired help," he scoffed. "I don't have to be nice to her, I pay her."

Exhaling slowly, I realized I was getting nowhere fast and the conversation was bringing out a side of him that I found intensely unattractive. Releasing my hold on the bed, I swiveled on the ball of my feet and headed toward our en suite bathroom. I didn't get more than two steps before Paul objected.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"Getting ready for bed," I tossed over my shoulder, not bothering to turn around.

He must have been capable of moving much more quickly that I would have expected, because as I got to the door, his hand darted over my shoulder and slapped flat down on the hard wood.

Exasperated, I turned to face him. "What are you doing?"

"I don't want to fight about the stupid babysitter," he said, his voice pitched soft and a little lower than usual, while his eyes attempted to focus on me.

"Paul," I sighed, placing my hands on his chest and pushing gently.

"What?" he asked, his chocolaty gaze moving from my face and taking a leisurely trip down the length of my body.

If it hadn't been obvious before, what he wanted was very clear to me by that point. Something about the way he looked at me caused a dozen butterflies to flutter wildly in my stomach. However, another sensation, a much more stubborn one, refused to let me give into that feeling. "You don't get any sex any more, remember?" I snapped. "That's what happens when you have kids, right?"

His eyebrows moved wearily in their surprise. "What the hell are you talkin' about?" he said, louder than I think he'd intended but unable to control his volume.

Shoving a little harder at his chest, I coaxed him back a half-step. "You know what I'm talking about," I replied, brusquely. "Have you any idea how embarrassing that was for me?"

Paul kept his hand on the door and refused to budge any further. "For Christ's sake," he muttered under his breath, before shaking his head incredulously. "That was just a joke. Come on, Ben and Linda knew I was only messing around."

"It's not just a joke though, is it?" I quickly replied. "When was the last time we made love?"

My question was met with silence, while his eyes searched the ceiling and his mind trawled his memory. "I don't know," he eventually huffed. "It's been a while. We've both been busy. And when we're not busy, we're having stupid arguments like this one."

"So, it's my fault?" I defensively blurted.

"That's not what I said," he insisted. "Why do you always twist my words?" His volume crept up another notch as he slammed his palm against the still closed bathroom door.

"Shhh," I quickly hissed. "You'll wake the kids."

Exhaling heavily through his nose, he was quiet for a few moments. When he spoke again, it was in deliberately muted tones. "Why are we doing this?"

I couldn't be sure whether the question was being asked of me or my breasts, and I waited for his bleary eyes to find mine once more. "I think," I sighed, my head rocking back and resting against the door. "I think, we're both a little stressed and tired. It's a rough patch," I added. That final phrase was spoken with more confidence than I felt in it. In truth, it was a hope that I'd been clinging to. As the weeks and months dragged on, the 'patch' got bigger and bigger. I was beginning to wonder if things would ever improve.

His Adam's apple jumped as he swallowed. "All I've been thinking about over the last hour is getting you back here and ripping your clothes off," he said, the fingers of his free hand suddenly snaking over my hip.

"That's because you're drunk," I informed him, allowing him to tug my lower half to him. My hips met his with a slight bump and I felt the warm swell of his groin pressed against my belly. The evening had been far from romantic. I didn't particularly want to make love with him right then. It was clear to all but the blind that alcohol had made him horny. Nothing else seemed to matter to him, not the fact that we'd been fighting, nor the fact that it had been almost two months since the last time we'd had sex.

"So what?" he replied darkly, as he moved his body against mine resulting in a surge of blood to his penis.

He was rock hard, his erection straining at the tented front of his pants. I wanted to stay mad; I _was_ still mad. And yet, two long months without physical intimacy had taken its toll on me. My fingers trembled as an all too familiar warmth began to pool in my stomach and spread slowly southward. "Maybe," I mumbled, realizing my mouth had gone suddenly dry. "Maybe we should talk about this in the morning." As I tried to grapple some control over my desire, he continued to drive me to the edge.

Drawing his face close to mine, he teased my lips with his. Close enough to kiss me, he simply brushed his mouth against mine and pulled back as I instinctively leaned toward his lips. "I don't want to talk," he breathed, "now or in the morning." His fingers stroked their way over my hip and grasped my buttock forcefully.

I gasped as he tugged me closer, grinding his lower half against mine. My hands automatically shot up to his shoulders, regaining my balance. "Kiss me," I pleaded, my fingers twisting in the soft cotton of his shirt.

Paul's hand slipped quickly from the bathroom door and snaked around my waist. He turned me hurriedly, panting with need as he pressed his open mouth to mine. His tongue dove between my lips, exploring with deep thrusts and little finesse. He pushed me rapidly and I followed his direction, my bare feet sliding backwards on the smooth carpet until my legs met the bedstead. His momentum didn't stop, and the force of his weight sent me flopping onto my back.

I bounced on the soft mattress, releasing a muffled groan as his weight landed carelessly on top of me. "Mmm," I mumbled into his mouth. "Hey," I panted, jerking my head to one side and tearing my lips away from his. "Let's slow down a little, huh?" I suggested, my hands stroking over the broad, sinewy muscles in his back. "There's no rush," I whispered into his ear.

Either unable or unwilling to listen, Paul grunted as his hands slid down my thighs. Hooking the fingers of one hand beneath my left knee, he coaxed my legs apart. His other hand was busy with the hem of my dress, pushing it haphazardly up. "Oh, God. I need you," he groaned, nestling his hips between my legs and pushing his still clothed groin to my underwear-covered sex.

It had been a long time since Paul had been that frenzied and impetuous. It was flattering to know, even after all those years, he wanted me so desperately. So, I felt torn. On one hand, grateful for being made to feel sexy and desired. On the other, a sense that this was little more than a mad dash to sheath himself within me.

"Paul," I moaned, the weight of his chest pressing the air out of my lungs.

"That's right," he panted heavily, uncoordinated hands fumbling awkwardly with the clasp and zipper of his pants. "Say my name." Muttering curses under his breath, he edged his pants and underwear off his hips, stopping as soon as they'd reached his upper thighs. His erection now free, the soft flesh of its head rubbed along my inner thigh.

"Babe," I muttered, the open zipper of his pants digging uncomfortably into my leg. "Please."

Misinterpreting my plea or perhaps just too engrossed in his own mission, Paul's sloppy, drunken hands gripped the edges of my panties. "Ugh," he grunted, yanking at the fabric. The rip of white lace met his growl of aggression and the backs of his fingers briefly brushed my outer lips.

Unconsciously, my hips jerked in response, craving more of the same. But his hand was cruelly ripped away as quickly as it had been placed there. I was aroused, I did want him, but I wasn't ready for what came next.

Paul quickly adjusted himself, bracing his hands on the mattress either side of my waist before driving his hips forwards with a masculine bark of release.

I sucked in a breath, my fingernails digging into his back, as my body was quickly and ruthlessly speared. "Ahh," I wailed, my sex seeming to fight against the invasion. I tried to force myself to relax, to breathe slowly and allow my body to accept him, but it was all happening much too quickly. Any sensual and erotic thoughts I tried to conjure were immediately chased away when he began to pump fiercely. "Ouch," I yelped. "Paul, you're hurting me."

His lower half was soon slapping against mine in a rapid tattoo. He groaned and muttered, the friction of my unprepared channel apparently proving uncomfortable for him. "You're pussy is so...tight," he grunted haltingly, only a syllable being uttered on each thrust.

I was barely able to hear him. Everything around me was a blur. The only thing that had any clarity was the pain of each callous drive of his pelvis, which caused me to bite down hard on my lower lip to keep from screaming.

Amid the discomfort and the grateful awareness that at least it wouldn't last long, I remember wondering what the hell was going on. Sex with Paul had never been like this, even when he'd had a few too many drinks. Even when he was a teenager and orgasm was all he ever thought about, he'd never _used_ my body like he did that night. It was as though I was with a stranger.

Forcing my gaze upward, I stared at his face. His eyes were squeezed shut, but if they'd been open he would have been staring at the wall straight in front of him. His features were tight with pained concentration. I'll never know exactly what he was concentrating on, but it definitely wasn't me. Sweat was beading on his forehead as he continued to lurch forwards, slamming his erection to the hilt with each viscous thrust. "Oh, yeah," he grunted. "You like that."

I drew in a deep breath, holding it while his movements lost their rhythmic pattern. The speed and depth started to grow erratic, until finally with a groan of, "Oh, shit!" he flopped forward and collapsed on top of me. His hips jerked and one leg spasmed as I felt his seed pulse into me in strong, hot bursts. That sensation, which had always been indicative of love, pleasure and the sharing of something primal suddenly made me feel sullied. I instantly felt guilty for feeling that way. After all, this was my husband, the man I loved with all my heart. Maybe the encounter had been lacking in romance and foreplay, but I'd still given him something special, which meant, by default, that what we'd done was special. At least, that's what I tried to tell myself, as my eyes flooded with scorching tears.

"Oh, God," Paul gasped, his breathing coming hard against my chest, as he leisurely lifted himself from me. "Ugh, fuck," he muttered, rolling to one side. As his flaccid penis slipped from me, some of his semen dripped onto my inner thigh and, within seconds, created a chill that quickly spread throughout my entire body.

As soon as his bulk was off me, I reached down and pulled my dress back to my knees. My trembling fingers remained there, clinging to the hem. Paul's left arm was lazily flopped over my waist and his foot, which was still in his black loafer, was draped clumsily across my calf. The rest of him was pressed face down into the mattress by my side.

"Paul," I said with a quiet, shaky voice.

The only response I received was the low rumble of a snore. Laying under what felt like an incredibly bright glare from our bedroom light, my eyes fixed wide on the clean, white ceiling above. Shell-shocked, the events of the previous few minutes played on a continuous loop. Everything about him, from the way he'd behaved to the way he'd spoken, seemed alien to me. How could the man I'd been sleeping with since I was eighteen have changed so dramatically? Was it the result of two months of abstinence; a build up of frustration coupled with the effects of alcohol?

Those questions rolled unanswered around my brain, but it was another that took center stage. What the hell had just happened? It beat at my head over and over, as I laid stunned into motionlessness. I couldn't even define what had passed between us. It hadn't been anything resembling love making, not by my interpretation of the phrase. The way he'd cruelly taken what he wanted regardless of my discomfort bordered on rape, but then again, I'd never said, "no" or asked him to stop. I may not have been particularly happy with what was going on, but I'd passively allowed it to happen. And that brought with it another uncomfortable realization: it wasn't just Paul who had acted out of character that night.

# Chapter Three

Visitor

I didn't get any sleep, and eventually crawled off of the bed at around five while the sun was just beginning to create an amber glow on the carpet. I slipped out from under Paul, not needing to worry about waking him, as he continued to snore loudly.

Leaving the room, I went down the hall to use the main bathroom, not because I was particularly worried about disturbing my husband's sleep, but I needed some time to compose myself before actually confronting what had gone on the night before. At that moment, I didn't know what to say to him. I even wondered whether the hours spent stewing over it had made me lose all perspective.

Climbing into the shower, I quickly soaped my body noting a graze on my inner left thigh and freshly pinkish bruises on both hip bones. The bruises were obviously caused by the force of his own pelvis knocking against me, it took me a little longer to realize that the tiny teeth of his open zipper had cut into the delicate flesh of my thigh. None of those injuries was particularly sore though, and with the exception of a slight tenderness between my legs, I had no other physical reminders of the evening. Still, try as I might, I simply couldn't shake the sense that something had gone very wrong in my relationship with Paul.

It took me no more than ten minutes to wash my body and hair. I spent a further hour standing beneath the hot jets, trying to figure out how to broach the subject.

Wrapped only in a towel and with hair loose and dripping wet, I returned to the bedroom. Still face down on the bed, Paul didn't stir. As I stepped into a pair of jeans and threw on a T-shirt, I watched him breathing heavily. With his dark hair tussled, dress shirt creased and pants hanging disheveled at his hips, he was a mess. It became clear that he was drunker than I'd realized the night before. Would he even remember what had happened? If he did, I was sure he'd feel guilty.

Taking a glance at the time, I wondered whether I should wake him. After just two days at home, he was about to head out of town again. A car was coming to pick him up at nine, so I tried to calculate how much time we'd have for a heart to heart before he left.

"Paul,"I whispered gently from the foot of the bed.

He didn't move, even the pattern of his breathing remained the same.

"Paul," I repeated, a little louder this time. "It's-"

"Mom!"

Spinning at the sound of the wail that interrupted me, I sighed. I hesitated momentarily, but when it became obvious that even the shouts of our children would not wake him, I decided to leave Paul alone for the time being.

Leaving the bedroom and shutting the door quietly behind me, I was met with the distressed face of my little boy. He wasn't crying, but I could see he was only seconds away from doing so; his big brown eyes watery and lip wobbly. Seeing me, he ran down the hall.

"Mom," he whimpered, his arms spread wide.

Crouching so that I was on his eye level, I placed my finger to my lips. "Daddy's still sleeping," I hushed.

He flung his chubby little fingers around my neck and I automatically wrapped one arm around his legs. With his butt resting on my forearm, I groaned as I scooped him off the floor. "You're getting big," I told him in a whisper. "I'm not going to be able to do this much longer."

He paid no attention, his legs quickly fastening around my waist and his face disappearing in my shoulder. I only managed to take him the few feet to his own room, before he was slipping down my hip. Carefully, I lowered him to the floor, sinking to his height as I did so.

"Now," I sighed, still in a hushed voice. "What's the matter?"

"Lizzie," he sniveled, pointing into his room.

When it became clear that was all I was going to get from my son, I stood up and stepped inside the room. All seemed normal, until I caught sight of an armless bear at the bottom of his bed. Stepping forwards, I scooped up the injured toy and turned to Dylan. "Did she do this?" I demanded.

With a trembling bottom lip, he nodded.

Glancing to the ceiling for inspiration and patience, I took a couple of quick breaths. "Elizabeth," I called clearly, realizing too late that I had just told my young son to be quiet.

Almost instantly, her pink door creaked open and she stood staring at me with an innocent smile. "Yes, Mom," she beamed. Her sandy hair, with roots that were turning the same warm hazel color of my own, was already scooped into a neat ponytail and she was dressed for school.

"Did you do this?" I asked her, holding up the bear that Dylan had named Frank.

She paused for a moment, perhaps resisting a child's knee-jerk compulsion to lie. "Well..." she mumbled, the smile slipping from her face and her almond eyes no longer able to meet mine.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," I finished for her, moving to her door and placing my hand firmly around her wrist.

"It wasn't all my fault," she insisted, trying to snatch her hand back. "He started it!"

Rolling my eyes, my face moved back to Dylan who was suddenly also looking as guilty as sin. "What did you do to her?" I demanded, my patience wearing very thin.

"He pulled the head off Barbie," Lizzie whined.

My first instinct was to smile. Barbie had been a bone of contention. I hadn't wanted Lizzie to have one. In my opinion, Barbie promoted an unhealthy and unattainable body image, not to mention the distinctly materialistic and shallow nature of her 'lifestyle'. When Paul's parents learned of my disapproval, they promptly bought Lizzie a Barbie, complete with dream house, for Christmas. Her beheading didn't stress me in the slightest, but in the interests of being fair to the kids, I had to treat both crimes equally. So, I quickly quashed the tiny grin that played at the corners of my mouth.

"Dylan," I said firmly, crooking my finger at him in a 'come here' motion. Once I had the pair of them in front of me, I couched before them both. "I don't want to tell either of you this again," I began. "Dylan, you leave your sister's things alone, do you understand?"

I waited patiently for him to reluctantly nod. "Yes, Mommy," he mumbled, softly.

"And Lizzie," I added. "If your brother does something to upset you, don't retaliate, just come and tell me or your dad and we'll deal with it, okay?"

She was less willing to agree, but eventually did so. "Yes, Mom."

"I want you to apologize to each other," I concluded, wrapping my hand around my four-year-old son's waist and turning him to face his older sister.

"But Mom, I didn't-" Lizzie began.

I interrupted her with a lift of my index finger. "I don't want to hear any more about it, Elizabeth," I warned her. "You both did something wrong and I'm not in the mood to play who did something worse. Just apologize," I urged.

The pair mumbled a 'sorry' to each other and almost instantly turned their backs. With no energy to demand that they repeat it sincerely, I pushed myself back to my feet. "I'll get you some breakfast," I told them, making my way down the hall. When I reached the top of the stairs, I snapped my head back. "Oh and Lizzie, find Frank's arm. I'll try to reattach it."

"What about Barbie?" she quickly countered.

"I'll see what I can do," I promised with a wink. "But I don't know whether she'll pull through," I warned gravely.

She giggled, before rushing back into her room to find the various body parts.

It was an hour and a half before Paul made his way downstairs, and I was in the middle of clearing away the kids' plates and bowls. All three of them sat at the breakfast counter, Dylan swinging his legs wildly, with jelly all over his face; Lizzie studying a book; and little Kate strapped into her booster seat.

"Daddy," Dylan squealed, jumping down from his stool and sprinting across the tiles. He leaped into Paul's waiting arms and laughed hysterically as he was spun around rapidly.

"Hey champ," Paul smiled, setting our son back down before ruffling his hair. "You got a busy day ahead?" he asked. Dressed in a fresh suit, his open necked shirt neatly tucked into his dress pants, hair washed and combed, he looked very different from the way I'd left him on our bed.

"Very," our little boy confirmed with a nod. "I've got a meeting at eleven," he announced, clinging to his father's right leg as Paul heaved his way across the floor.

"Is that so?" Paul mumbled, only half listening, as he bent to kiss Kate on the top of the head. "Morning Liz," he added, looping an arm around her shoulders. "You okay, kiddo?"

She ignored his question in favor of one of her own. "Dad why do you have to go away again?"

"Sorry sweetie," he stated, with a tough luck tilt of his chin. "It's just the way it is, Daddy's a very busy man."

"But we never get to spend any time with you," she whined.

With a huff, Paul reached for a slice of bread and slipped it into the toaster. "We'll spend some time together when I get back, how's that?" he suggested.

Not even slightly appeased, Lizzie sullenly slipped down from her chair. "I've got to get ready for school," she muttered.

"Daddy," Kate called, grinning. "Look," she proudly cried, holding up a crayon sketch that she'd been working on.

"That's great, honey," he responded, almost automatically, giving no more than a passing glance at the picture.

Somehow, knowing that the children were slipping from his radar of importance made me even more angry than the fact our relationship had taken a sideline. "Paul," I whispered, taking a step to his side. "You know, the kids really miss you when you're gone. It's tough on them; a few days for you feels like an eternity to them."

"I'll make it up to them," he shrugged, as his toast popped up and he quickly grabbed it. "I better toss some stuff in a bag," he announced, lifting his wrist to check the time.

Slipping my hand into the crook of his elbow, I held him still for just a few seconds longer. "I was hoping we'd be able to talk before you go," I suggested quietly and with no small degree of discomfort. It wasn't going to be an easy conversation to have.

"What about?" he replied testily, as he tugged his arm free of me.

"Well..." I hesitated, sure that he must know what I was referring to. "Last night," I eventually said in a whisper.

With an impatient sigh, his eyes drifted to the floor. "Do we have to do this now?" he asked.

"If not now, then when?" I countered.

Paul's gaze moved to Kate, who had gone back to adding more detail to her drawing, then Dylan, who was tearing about the open plan dining area as if he were an airplane. "Look," he said under his breath. "I was a little selfish," he admitted, but shrugged it off. "But you were the one complaining about how long it's been since we had sex. Well, we had sex, so...?" he left his words hanging, challenging me to make a big deal out of it.

If I'd been able to wrap my head around what was happening, I would have made a big deal out of it. But as things were, I stood open-mouthed, stunned into silence by his complete disregard for what had happened.

"So, are we done?" he demanded. "Because I've got a plane to catch." Without waiting for me to respond, he was already heading for the door.

Dylan ran after him yelling, "Can I come too, Dad?"

And sure enough, that was the end of it. We didn't speak of that night again.

Paul was ready by the time his driver arrived at the door. He handed over his small suitcase, before turning to hug and kiss each of the kids goodbye. Once he was done, I received a wave of his hand as he climbed into the back of the vehicle.

After he'd gone, I still felt shell shocked by the callous way he'd rebuffed my concerns; both over the effect his repeated absences were having on the children, and indeed the trouble within our own strained relationship. And just when I thought the day couldn't possible have started any worse, his mother arrived. As she was apt to do, she didn't ring the bell, just let herself in. Paul had insisted she have a key, in case of emergencies, but Carole seemed to believe that gave her carte blanche to enter at will.

She strolled into the kitchen, finding me still in the midst of clearing up from breakfast. Lizzie and Dylan were arguing again, something I was too tried to deal with at that moment and unbeknownst to me, Kate had stripped off all of her clothes with the exception of her underwear.

The sight that met my mother-in-law caused her to tut loudly. "Having trouble, dear?" she asked rhetorically.

"Not exactly," I responded defensively. "They've just got me outnumbered at the moment," I added, smiling in an effort to lighten the mood.

It didn't work; it had never worked. I no longer knew why I bothered. Carole Hayes had hated me with a passion almost from the moment she met me. She had it fixed in her head that I only wanted to be with her son because he was wealthy. Even agreeing to sign a rigid prenup that ensured I got nearly nothing if we divorced was not enough to convince her otherwise.

She was the kind of woman who made a sport of finding fault with other people; her favorite target being me. I wasn't good enough for her son, never had been, never would be. And she was determined to prove it to him.

"Well," she replied humorlessly. "I thought I might help you out by taking Elizabeth and Dylan to school."

"Umm, thanks," I said, busily loading the dishwasher.

"Do you want me to dress Katherine before I go?" she asked, turning to me with a disapprovingly arched eyebrow.

Driven to the point of caring minimally what she thought of me, I shrugged. "It's no problem," I said. "It's warm out. I'm in the middle of potty training her anyway, so it makes things simpler for her if she needs to go."

Scowling at me, she bit a tongue that no doubt had a stream of things to say on the matter. Rapidly she turned to the two older children, quickly breaking up their squabble. "Hey, grandma's here," she announced.

Dylan quickly ran to her, knowing, as I did, that she would have some treat for him. Sure enough, out of her Louis Vuitton purse came a sucker.

"Can I have this now, Mom?" he excitedly screamed, gratefully grabbing the candy.

"I don't-" I began.

"Of course you can," she interrupted.

My rule was always no sweets before school. "He's just brushed his teeth," I sighed, addressing Carole.

"He's a young boy," she smiled, relishing every opportunity she had to undermine me. "You've got to bend the rules and have a little fun now and then." As she spoke, her hand delved back into her purse and she retrieved another piece of candy. This time, she offered it to Lizzie.

"Thanks, grandma," Lizzie smiled, accepting the sucker and stuffing it into the pocket of her jeans.

"You can have yours now, too," Carole assured her, nodding.

"I'll save it for later, thanks," Lizzie replied.

This seemed to rankle my mother-in-law, who quickly said goodbye and hustled the older kids out of the house.

I followed them to the door, giving Lizzie and Dylan a hug. "Have a good day at school," I told them, before watching them trot down the steps and climb eagerly into the back of Grandma's Mercedes.

With just me and Kate in the house, things were much quieter. However, with a mountain of housework to do, they weren't going to be much easier.

# Chapter Four

What A Mess

Later that night, after an hour and a half and three stories, Kate finally went to sleep. At last, the house was silent and I breathed a sigh of relief. There was laundry to be done and dishes from dinner still to be washed, but I couldn't be bothered with either. Instead, I plodded wearily to my bathroom and ran a nice, hot bath.

I couldn't contain the long, deep sigh I exhaled as my body slipped beneath the warm water and it seemed as if a huge weight had been lifted from me. Under the spell of that glorious calm, my brain stopped whirring and, for the first time in longer than I cared to recall, I was at peace.

I made no conscious decision to move my hands. In fact, I surprised myself when I found them slipping over the slick skin of my chest and caressing my breasts. Quickly giving way to the pleasant sensation, I allowed my eyes to lazily drift closed, as I continued to move my fingers in slow, teasing circles. When I reached my nipples, I found them rigid and aching. Gently gripping those tight pebbles between my forefingers and thumbs, I pinched lightly. "Hmmm," I mumbled longingly, my right hand leaving my breasts and smoothing over my abdomen.

With my eyes shut, I imagined another hand traveling to my navel and slowly sliding over my mound. It was Paul I thought about. It had always been Paul; except perhaps for a short time when I was sixteen, when mind candy for my self-exploration was the blonde-haired guy from that boy band. The fact that Paul was, and always had been, the focus of almost all of my erotic fantasies wasn't due to any misplaced sense of disloyalty via thought. It was simply a case of never having felt the need to focus on any other man. My husband turned me on – not everything about him, of course. The sight of him sprawled out on the bed that morning, for example, was not the stuff of my sexual dreams. However, there were always memories that I could hang my masturbating hat on. We'd had some really good times together, and it wasn't difficult for me to focus on those.

My fingers moved leisurely over the neat triangle of short hair that covered my mound. Drawn further, they smoothed between my outer lips finding them smooth and plump. Bending one leg and sliding my foot up to my bottom, I offered my own roaming hand freer access. With the pad of my middle finger, I rolled carefully over my clitoris, which instantly responded.

Often, during moments like those, I'd think of the first time Paul touched me like that. It was several months before we went the whole way and not long after my eighteenth birthday. He'd been so nervous that his fingers were trembling. He didn't know what he was doing, and truth be told, neither did I. Sure, I knew what felt good, but I hadn't got a name for that small bud that sent warmth flooding through my entire body. We were both giddy and a little scared, but we laughed together and, eventually, he asked me to guide his fingers.

"Show me," he'd urged. "Show me how to touch you."

I was hesitant at first, sure that he'd much rather be in control of the situation. I was also reluctant to give the impression that he was doing something wrong. However, he continued to insist and, as I placed my fingers on top of his, it wasn't close to being as embarrassing or awkward as I'd assumed it would be. That afternoon, I'd coaxed him into rubbing my clitoris, until I bucked and writhed in climax. What I didn't know then, and would never have known had he not confessed it a couple of years later, was that the sight and feel of my orgasm had caused Paul to come in his pants.

Brought back to my present surroundings by the stirring of electricity between my legs, I started to increase the pressure of my touch. It had been several weeks since I'd pleasured myself and even longer since Paul had driven me to orgasm, so the speed of its climb caught me off guard. Usually, after long dry spells, my body is slow to reach boiling point.

I was close; so close. My mouth fell open and I began suck in shallow panted breaths. My hips were moving of their own volition, my backside swaying on the bottom of the tub in rhythm to the movement of my fingers. Sparks were triggering a restless warmth in my belly. And then, as I began to reach the summit, the phone's harsh ringing ripped me from the high and yanked me back down. I tried to ignore it, I kept my eyes tightly shut and strummed my body with renewed vigor. However, as the beep of the answer machine cut in and my mother-in-law's voice drifted to the bathroom from the phone on Paul's bedside table, I removed my hand from between my legs with a muttered, "Shit."

"Julia, it's Carole," she began in her hash, nasal tone. "I just wanted to make sure everything's okay. I know you said you can cope, but I really think that things are becoming too much for you right now. It's understandable," she quickly added. "It's hard for an inexperienced mother to care for three children on her own."

The bath was suddenly no longer relaxing. My jaw had tightened and I felt my shoulders begin to rise to my neck. What she meant by 'inexperienced mother' I didn't know. I'd been a mom for nearly eight years and certainly didn't consider myself new to the job.

"All I mean is, there's nothing wrong with asking for help. And I'm always here if you need me," she announced, a smile clear in her voice. "Anyway," she added briskly. "Call me, because it's really quite late and I'm concerned about where you are."

"Argh," I growled, my hands gripping the edges of the bathtub and imagined it was her neck beneath my fingers. With the firm click of her phone being put down, I gave up all hope of a soothing soak in the tub, let alone any prospect of sexual release. Yanking myself up, I reached for a big, fluffy towel with one hand and held it loosely to my chest, not bothering to wrap it around me. After quickly tugging the plug out of the bath, I wandered bare foot and dripping into the bedroom.

Once there, I stared at the phone, with a red light blinking on its base, for several seconds. Should I call her? If I did, she'd jabber on and on for ages. If I didn't, she'd just keeping calling all night long. Making a sudden decision, I lunged forwards and edged the bedside table out slightly. Then, I grabbed the cable at the back of the phone and pulled until I felt the mains pop out of the wall socket.

With a satisfied nod and a naughty grin, I flopped down onto the bed. Knowing exactly what Carole would think if she could see me making the bed wet with the outline of my buttocks, I dropped onto my back. Sprawling out, I let my soaking wet hair drench the sheets. However, my delight in doing something that seemed so rebellious was short-lived. Eventually, I sat up and, when I did, I was met with my first real acknowledgment of the car crash that was my bedroom.

Up until that time, I hadn't been back in the room since leaving it that morning. And as I'd strolled to the bath, I'd failed to really take it in. Carole's opinion that I was a lazy wife and mother came back to haunt me. Our bedroom certainly was a mess, not of my making but, apparently, it was my 'job' to clean up after my husband.

There were clothes everywhere. The ones Paul had worn the night before were strewn on the floor from where he'd stripped them off that morning. His damp towel had been tossed at the foot of the bed and now just a tiny corner clung to the mattress while the rest draped slovenly on the floor. A sports bag sat beside the wardrobe. It was open with a creased shirt spilling out of it. This was the bag he'd taken on his last trip and must have been placed in the closet when he got home. Paul appeared to have pulled it out and been rummaging for something. Thoughtfully, he'd left it in disarray for me to deal with.

I considered leaving it; just watching TV and putting all that mess off until the morning. However, I couldn't take my eyes off the state of the room and was bombarded by the thought that I wasn't being a good enough wife to Paul. I was supposed to _want_ to take care of him, it wasn't meant to seem like a chore. Perhaps he felt, like his mom, that I wasn't doing a very good job – was that why we'd been so disconnected?

Pushing myself up from the bed, I quickly strode back into the bathroom, tossed the towel in the laundry hamper and grabbed a robe. It was a silk one that reached my calves; a present from Paul for my birthday. Carefully drawing the tie around my middle and securing it in place, I didn't care that my damp hair was already soaking through the material at my shoulders.

Marching back into the bedroom, I pushed the sleeves of the robe up to my elbows and was ready for business. I moved quickly around the room, first picking up Paul's towel and scooping that over my arm as I bent for his clothes. While I walked purposefully to the large bathroom hamper, I slipped my hands into his pants pockets, turning them inside out. True to form, a handful of change clattered onto the bathroom tiles.

"Paul," I groaned, realizing that after a decade of begging him, he was never going to empty the pockets of his dirty clothes.

After tossing my armful into the laundry basket, I crouched and picked up each coin one by one. Two quarters, three dimes and five pennies. With a huff of weariness, I pushed myself upright and took the fistful of money to Paul's bedside table. Right next to the phone was a sterling silver tray with 'change is good' engraved in the center. It had once belonged to Paul's grandfather and, although he treasured it, he didn't see fit to use it. With a satisfying clatter, I placed the coins onto the tray and spun on the balls of my feet.

The sports bag was the one remaining eyesore. I would have felt that I was on the home stretch, but the worst thing about being a housewife is that there's never a home stretch. There's always something to do; always more mess, because while you're cleaning someone's making some more. But, for the time being at least, I was on the verge of having a clean bedroom.

I moved for the bag, gripping the thick shoulder strap and half lifted, half dragged it into the bathroom. Setting it down by the still open hamper, I crouched down and began tugging each item of clothing from the bag. Two dress shirts went straight into the basket. A white T-shirt followed and then there were three boxer shorts. Black dress pants and a pair of jeans dwelt at the bottom and, sure enough, both had change and receipts stuffed in every available pocket.

"For God's sake," I muttered pulling out all the junk and chucking it temporarily in the bottom of the bag. As I did that, my eyes flashed down at the black polyester lining that was speckled with tiny balls of white fluff. My gaze caught something shiny. Releasing their grip on Paul's jeans, my fingers delved into the bag. I tried to tell myself that it was just a little scrap of foil; it couldn't possibly be what it looked like; what I thought it was. Grasping it with my forefinger and thumb, I slowly pulled it free from its hiding place. It wasn't just the tiny edge I had been able to see. It was a full square with a clear circular indent. The shiny, blue wrapper had been ripped at the top and its contents removed.

The hand holding the condom wrapper began to tremble, as the implications of it settled painfully in my chest. My mouth and throat went instantly dry, while palpitations caused my eardrums to throb with each deep, pound of my heart. Paul and I hadn't used condoms since our engagement; he'd never liked them, we both wanted a family anyway and, shortly after Lizzie was born, I'd started taking the pill. There was no need for any other form of contraception.

The object in my hand could mean only one thing. God knows I tried to find other explanations. Most of them were wild, nonsensical excuses; anything to avoid the truth that was staring me in the face. But there was no way to avoid it. Paul had an affair while he'd been away.

Dropping the wrapper and swiveling toward the tub, bile suddenly rose in my throat. I dry heaved, nothing more than saliva dribbling from my bottom lip while my throat burned. I remained that way for several minutes, my empty stomach continuing to retch.

Eventually, my insides stopped trying to turn themselves inside out, but my heart still raced and my fingers tingled with a lack of circulation. My knees beginning to feel numb, I forced myself up, regretting it almost instantly when my head pounded and I felt a wave of dizziness. Nevertheless, I pulled myself around to the sink and turned the cold faucet on full. I let the stream flow noisily for a second, while I looked at myself in the mirror. My usually bright complexion was deathly pale and my blue eyes gazed blankly ahead. Unable to bear the sight of myself, I stuck my head beneath the water's stream, vigorously rinsing my face before filling my mouth with several large gulps.

When the feeling of nausea returned with a vengeance, I quickly turned off the water and slipped down onto the cold tiles, my legs collapsing beneath me. My back propped up against the edge of the tub was the only thing keeping me sitting upright. Never, either before or since, have I experienced such a sudden and debilitating sense of loss and disorientation.

It was an hour or more before I was finally able to drag myself up from the bathroom floor. By that point, I was still trembling, but it was no longer with fear. The victim mentality had been replaced with anger; a seething rage. Questions swirled around my frenzied brain, and I was determined to get answers.

# Chapter Five

Proof

Through an enraged red mist, I wasn't thinking clearly. I flew back into the bedroom and started tearing the room apart. I began by ripping out the drawers of Paul's bedside table, and tipping the contents of them on the floor. His collection of cufflinks scattered over the carpet and an old cell phone battery clunked to the ground followed by an ipod with tangled earphones. The lower, deeper drawer was heavier and full of notebooks and photo albums. I flicked through these, quickly dismissing them when I found nothing relevant within the pages.

Using the bed to push myself up, I moved over to Paul's wardrobe. My movements were frenzied, as I tugged suit jackets off hangers and rifled through the pockets. When I found nothing, I tossed the clothes over my shoulder. I continued this way, until I'd gone through every item of clothing he owned. I had to wade through an ankle deep puddle of fabric as I turned away from the closet and glanced desperately around the room. He had taken everything else with him; his phone, tablet and laptop were all in his possession.

"Shit," I hissed, my breath coming hard as the desperate need to get to the truth became an almost physical pain. I couldn't call him, he'd only come up with a convenient excuse for the condom, and not being able to see him when he lied put me at a disadvantage. No, I wanted to have irrefutable proof of what he'd done before I confronted him with it.

In the corner of the room was a desktop computer, which I focused on intently. It was my only route into his life. I'd only ever used the thing infrequently, but I'd worked with computers before Lizzie came into the world, and knew my way around them. Without a second thought, I turned it on and tugged the antique chair toward the desk.

Sitting, I grasped the mouse and clicked on the shortcut for Paul's email. Then, I was forced to pause. I had no idea what his password was. It wasn't something he'd shared with me. Until that moment, I'd never questioned it; hadn't believed for one second that I needed access to his cell or his computers. I'd stupidly believed that Paul loved me the same way I loved him, and that no matter what problems we faced, we'd work through them together.

Not only did I feel betrayed and sick with the knowledge that he'd been with someone else, but I also felt stupid. I was gullible and naïve not to see what had been going on. The signs were there; his distance, his unwillingness to have sex (the exception being our strange encounter the night before), that gnawing sense that something just wasn't right. It was a feeling I'd had for weeks, and yet I'd ignored it, buried it, pretended that everything was just peachy and perfect.

With no trace of humor, I laughed bitterly at my own stupidity.

Fresh anger welling inside me, I turned my attention back to the computer screen. I began typing words that floated into my head. I started with the name of Paul's family business: 'Hayes&Son', then moved onto the license plate number of his new BMW, the name of his childhood dog, our children's names and dates of birth, the date of our wedding. Denied, denied, denied.

"Argh," I groaned loudly, slamming my hand down on the surface of the desk. In the silence that followed, I waited to discover that I'd woken one, or possibly all three, of the kids. However, the moment's ticked by and still silence met my ears. Drawing in a calming breath, I resolved to control my outburst. The last thing I needed was a sleepily toddler wandering in and asking what was going on. I would never be able to explain Mom's teary, haunted face or the wreckage she'd made of the bedroom.

With a sigh of resignation, I threw myself back into the solid wooden-backed chair, jarring my spine as I did so. I didn't care about the discomfort. Instead, my eyes crawled up the wall before me and landed on a framed picture of Paul with three of his high school football teammates. "Tigers," I whispered under my breath.

Moving without my conscious request, I typed, 'Tigers' into the empty password box. However, I hovered over the enter key for some time, before deciding to add '32', Paul's jersey number. The screen suddenly changed and I was looking at Paul's inbox.

Quickly scanning through the first page of recent messages, all seemed normal, boring and businesslike. However, three quarters of the way down the page, I noticed something that seemed out of place. The sender's name was Jennifer, in of itself nothing to be suspicious about, but the subject line of her email read, 'Last Night'.

Terrified, but unable to simply turn away, I slowly directed the mouse to that message and clicked to open it. I don't think I breathed as I read, and my heart seemed to sink lower and lower in my chest.

Hi Paul,

Just wanted to say thanks for a very interesting evening. Someone told me that you admire people who go after what they want, so I assume you won't think any less of me for doing exactly that. Like I told you, I'd been thinking about it for months and the temptation of being in a strange city and a luxurious hotel with you was just too great to resist. And I think you should know that you definitely didn't disappoint! Anyway, I look forward to working with you. I'm pretty sure it's going to be a lot of fun for both of us.

There was nothing overt, but the subtext of her email left little to the imagination. My eyes flicked to the date, it had been sent almost three months ago. Paul had been on another three, maybe four trips since then. The tears that had been pricking my eyes spilled silently onto my cheek and traced a hot trail to my chin. This hadn't just been a one-time thing; a moment of weakness. In all likelihood, he'd been having a full-blown affair with this woman.

Desperate to know more, I typed Jennifer in the search box and pulled up all messages sent to and from her. There were only two more that she'd sent to Paul, both were completely professional and written some time earlier. The other was written by Paul in reply to the first email I'd read.

Jen,

The pleasure was mine! You're absolutely right, this could be the start of a long and successful association. Will be in Dallas again in a couple of weeks. If interested in another meeting, let me know. I'll e-mail you the details when they're set in stone.

Again, the pretext of business hid something that caused my stomach to lurch. Blinking back the water that was blurring my vision, I slumped in the chair. There were still so many unanswered questions. Who was this woman? How long had it been going on? Was it just a fling or was Paul considering leaving me for her?

It seemed as though I'd struck a dead end. Paul and this Jennifer hadn't corresponded in ten weeks, at least not via email. However, as I was about to give up, I noticed that Paul had placed those two emails, which seemed to skirt around the subject of a night spent together, in a folder entitled, 'business trips'. I'm not sure why it occurred to me to check it, but I did so on instinct.

Moving the mouse to the right hand side of the screen, I clicked on the folder, which opened a new window. 'Business trips' contained dozens of messages and as I scanned down the list, I quickly noticed the pattern. Every single one was from a woman. Four names featured heavily; Abby, Rachel, Joann and Krista. Emails from each of them were predominantly in dated chunks. Abby's were all sent just before and around the time Paul was in New York. Rachel's centered around the week he was in Tampa. Joann wrote to him during his trip to San Francisco, and Krista's emails were dated on and just after Paul's visit to San Diego.

"Jesus," I mumbled, my eyes widening with disbelief. It all seemed so surreal. Shaking my head, I felt that I must be dreaming. This had to be some horrible nightmare that I was about to wake up from. However, no matter how many times I blinked, the image on the screen stayed the same.

Although a part of me didn't want the pain of knowing what was inside those emails, the urge to get to the truth was overwhelming. So, regardless of the sensible voice that told me to just turn the computer off and walk away, my fingers gripped the mouse tightly and directed the cursor to the last email on the list – the oldest. It was from Krista and the subject line read, 'Discrete'.

Paul,

I'm sure you feel the same, but I wanted to ask if we can keep what happened yesterday between us. Some of the guys on my team were asking where I disappeared to last night and I made up an excuse about not feeling well. I just hope nobody saw us going upstairs to your room. I don't want people thinking that I'm trying to sleep my way to a promotion. Working with a large group of men is difficult enough without them thinking I'm a slut. And as drunk as we both were, I don't want you to think I regret what happened. In fact, if you're in town for a few more days, perhaps we can meet up again?

Her next message made it clear that Paul had reassured her and responded in the affirmative to her final question. She simply confirmed that she would meet him at his hotel room at 9pm that evening.

There followed a couple more messages, stating that she'd had a good time and requested more meetings with him. The content of her final email suggested that Paul had given her the brush off. However, she didn't seem too distressed by that news.

Next came Joann, her messages were similar in tone. She obviously also worked for the company, in one of the smaller branches. She alluded to having given Paul a blowjob in the bathroom of a restaurant, before signing off with a crass remark about her jaw still being sore from the experience.

With a disgusted grunt, I shut that email and opened the next. It was immediately apparent that Rachel from Tampa was direct in expressing her desires.

Mr. Hayes,

This is probably totally inappropriate, but I know you're here for the weekend and I was hoping you might like a little company. I feel that there's been some chemistry between us and I've caught you glancing at me in a way that tells me you've felt it too. I know that you're married, and I'm not looking for anything serious. I just want you to fuck me.

There were several very short messages, confirming a time and place to meet. Then, a day later, a long message praising Paul's prowess. However, she, unlike the two other women, seemed content with just one night. She made no mention of meeting him again, and continued to address him as Mr. Hayes.

The final clutch of emails was the most recent, concerning Paul's trip to New York. There, he'd been supposed to be meeting with potential new clients. The Abby from his mailbox seemed to be an employee of that business.

Hello, Paul.

I'm Abby, Frank Welby's personal assistant. I tried to call you this afternoon, but couldn't get through. Mr. Welby was impressed with your presentation, but he'd like some further questions answered before you leave town. However, he's heading to Napa tomorrow, so would it be possible for you to get down to the offices tonight? Thanks in advance.

I read this message again, searching for some innuendo or hint of over familiarity that I might have missed the first time around. There was none, so why had Paul kept this message? The fact that there was another email from Abby indicated there was more to this seemingly professional exchange. With a sense of dread, I clicked on the subsequent message.

Paul,

I forgot that there was a security camera in the conference room! Had to do some quick thinking to remove this footage from the files. I really enjoyed watching this, though. Hope you will, too.

Beneath the text was a video file. In so deep, I felt sure things could get no worse. I was wrong.

A new window quickly opened and a grainy image appeared. The picture was soundless and quality awful, but there was no mistaking my husband. He was standing behind a blonde-haired woman, with her shoulder length hair masking most of her face. She was bent forward over a massive circular table with some ten chairs around it. Her large breasts were threatening to spill out of the low cut blouse she wore.

Paul had her tight, very short skirt tugged into his hands and yanked up around her waist. I then watched his left hand, the one bearing his solid gold wedding band, slide down to his pants and unzip his fly. His fingers disappeared within and quickly returned, easing his hard shaft through the opening. Suddenly, he was inside her. With no thought for contraception, he'd rammed his unprotected member into a woman he'd met just that morning. The knowledge that less than a week later, that same cock was inside me made me feel that I'd been defiled.

Her head bucked up and she arched her back, her mouth open as she screamed something. Paul instantly took advantage of her elevated upper half, grasping both of her breasts in rough hands. After a few seconds of frenzied groping, she turned her face to his and said something I couldn't lipread. It spurred him into action, pushing her back to the desk and slamming his erection into her with a force that rocked the huge table.

All of the blood left my head, as I watched him repeatedly enter her from behind. She was writhing beneath him, squealing in what looked like delight at the violent treatment. Paul abruptly pulled free from her, using his right hand to slap her hard on the buttock before clasping his penis. With hurried, brutal strokes, he stimulated himself. Climaxing with a sudden jet of creamy white fluid that splattered over the hand print that was reddening on her ass.

Jumping to my feet, I dashed to the bathroom, making it to the sink just in time to lose the small amount of water I'd managed to force into my stomach just minutes before.

# Chapter Six

What Friends Are For

Unable to think clearly, I dashed back into the bedroom and flung open my closet. Yanking out a suitcase that was laid on the bottom, I flipped it open and began throwing clothes into it. I couldn't say what I chose to take and what I chose to leave, there was no logical sense to what I was doing, no thought for practicalities. The only thing I was aware of was a desperate need to get out of that house. A claustrophobia had gripped me and was frantic to break free.

Enclosing the hurriedly bundled clothes within the case, I grabbed a pair of sweatpants with my free hand. Rushing to the bed, I sat down and slipped the sweats over my legs. Keeping the robe fastened and draped over the top, I pulled the pants up to my waist and jumped up from the mattress. It was only as I returned to my closet and grasped an oversized sweater that I silently asked, what was I doing? Where would I go? I didn't have any money, no family nearby and, after I'd left Paul, he was sure to do everything he could to take the children away from me. He could afford a team of the best family law attorneys. I could afford...nothing.

As all the furious energy drained from me, I slumped to the floor of my closet and leaned back against the firm wall. I was trapped.

Staring blankly ahead, I wrestled with that concept; questioning how I'd found myself in such a situation. It had never entered my head, not even for a second, that by agreeing to Paul's parents' demands over the prenuptial agreement, I'd been backed into an inescapable corner. The balance of power in our marriage was hideously weighted in his favor. And I was out of options.

In a state of utter despondency and still reeling from what I'd just discovered, I did what I have always done when I didn't know what to do. I picked up the phone, after plugging it back in, and called Grace. She was my best friend, had been since we were in second grade. Although life had sent us in different directions, quite literally placing us on opposite sides of the country, and things often got so busy that it would be months between conversations, we remained close. Every time we talked, even when it was almost a year since the last time, it was as though we'd just seen each other yesterday. We both understood that life got frantic, so there was no sense that the other wasn't making 'enough effort' to stay in touch.

Waiting anxiously for her to answer, I clutched the phone tightly to my ear as if it were a lifeline.

"Hello," she eventually said, a slight question in the word which made it obvious she hadn't looked at the caller ID before picking up.

"Hey," I replied, my voice sounding hoarse and scratchy. "It's me."

"Julia?" she responded quickly. "What's up? You sound terrible."

Despite the intense misery I felt, I couldn't help but smile. Grace always had a way of cutting right to the heart of the matter. She didn't worry about a veneer of politeness, she never said anything she didn't mean and expected everybody to treat her with the same level of brutal honesty.

"Jesus," she added. "It must be three in the morning there. What the hell's happened?"

"Is it?" I mumbled absently glancing at the digital clock. "I lost track of time."

"Jules," she sighed soothingly. "What's going on?"

"I umm," I began, not knowing exactly what to say. After a brief pause, I decided perhaps Grace's approach was the best, if not the only, way to deal with things. "Paul's been cheating on me."

"What?" she shouted, her shock sounding no less than my own had been.

I was past the point of crying, all of my tears had dried out long before. So, it was with a sort of detached, emotionless voice that I recounted what I'd discovered over the previous few hours.

"You've got to be kidding me?" she muttered quietly. I could tell she was talking to herself and didn't actually think it was my idea of a practical joke. "Who does that bastard think he is?"

"Rico Suave, apparently," I murmured bitterly.

"Jesus Christ," she sighed, clearly having a hard time taking the news in. "What an ass!" she suddenly shouted. "Where the fuck does he get off? You're stuck at home raising his children and he goes around sticking his dick into everything with a pair of breast."

I was grateful that she was so angry on my behalf, but her rant brought back images that caused my throat to tighten.

"I'd chop his cock off!" she added vehemently.

That brought a reluctant laugh to my lips, but it tapered off far too quickly to provide any real relief.

"Oh, Jules," she breathed. "Honey, what are you going to do?"

"I really don't know," I admitted with a whisper. "I just..." I sighed wearily. "I don't know."

"But you are going to leave him, right?" she asked, leaving no doubt that she felt the answer should be a resounding 'yes'.

"I want to," I replied weakly. "I mean, our marriage is over. If it had just been once, I might have been able to forgive him, but after this, I'll never be able to trust him again."

"But?" Grace coaxed, noting that there was one coming.

"But what can I do?" I said, shaking my head dispiritedly. "I haven't got a penny to my name. I can't even afford to rent a tiny one bedroom apartment, let alone a place big enough for three kids."

"Okay," she conceded, her practical tone coming to the fore. "So, you get a job and save some money."

It was a viable suggestion, but there were problems. "I won't be able to work without Paul finding out," I sighed. "He'd want to know why, and I can't come up with a convincing reason other than the truth."

"Tell him you're bored at home and need some adult company once in a while," Grace offered helpfully.

"Yeah," I agreed. "But if he knows I'm working, he'll wonder why the money isn't going into our joint bills account," I countered, hating the fact that every solution simply posed another problem. "Not to mention the fact that it would take me forever to save enough, I'm not qualified for anything that would pay well."

"Then don't worry about money," she dismissed quickly. "You and the children can come and live with me, until you've got yourself settled financially. You could stay as long as it takes you know that."

I'd been wrong. My tears had apparently an endless supply, because Grace's generous offer brought a fresh wave. "You're too good to me," I replied shakily.

"Hey," she cooed. "That's what friends are for, right? So what do you say?"

"I'd love to," I told her earnestly. "But I can't. No matter what, when I leave him, Paul's going to fight me for principal custody of the kids. If I take them out of the state without his permission, his lawyers will make sure I never see them again."

Grace was silent for several seconds. "Surely, he wouldn't do that," she mumbled. "The children love you, you're a good mom. Why would he want to do that to them or to you?"

Sighing, my eyes wandered to the ceiling. "He can be very vindictive," I explained. "And he's ruthless in getting what he wants. He's, umm..." I hesitated. "He's joked about what would happen if we ever split up. At least, he framed them as jokes, but I knew that he wasn't just messing around. If I give him any reason to, he'll take them from me."

Exhaling heavily, the whir of Grace's brain almost came through the phone. "All right," she began. "So, the situation is you need to make some money, preferably a lot of it in a fairly short space of time. And you need to keep it on the down low," she stated, summing up my impossible situation.

"That's about it," I agreed, leaning forward and dropping my head into my open left palm. "No big deal, right?" I joked darkly.

"Well," she said, drawing the word out. "I'm thinking there is something you could do?"

"What?" I asked, not holding out much hope for a completely full proof solution.

"Don't dismiss it right off the bat, okay?" she prefaced. "How about working as an exotic dancer?"

"Stripping?" I blurted. "I don't think so."

"I said, don't dismiss it," she insisted. "Think about it. You could work a couple of nights a week during the time Paul's away. You'd hire a sitter to watch the kids, or have them stay overnight with friends."

"All that sounds fine," I conceded. "But what about the part where I take off my clothes?"

"You've got an amazing body," she instantly replied, seeming to misunderstand my main objection. "It may have been a long time since you danced in high school, but I bet you've still got the moves."

"Grace," I muttered. "I can't."

"Why not?" she countered.

"I just..." I weakly protested. "I can't go around all the clubs in town, gyrating in nothing more than a thong."

"You could," she retorted. "Do you know how quickly you could make enough money for a deposit on an apartment?"

"That's not the point," I replied quietly.

"Well, sweetie," she sighed. "I don't know that you have many other options. I'm not suggesting that it's perfect, and I'm not suggesting you take it up as a career. But I do think it's worth considering. Otherwise, what choice do you have?" We both knew it was a rhetorical question, but Grace left it hanging there, no doubt wanting to ensure that I really thought about my predicament and lack of ways out. "Do you really think that you could just bury all of this and go on with Paul as though nothing's happened?" she eventually added.

That was another question that didn't require an answer. She knew me well enough to know that I couldn't bear to play 'happy families' with a man who not only had been unfaithful, but also a man who would doubtless continue to cheat on me.

"Are you still there?" she said after my silence had become uncomfortably long.

"Yeah," I assured her quietly. "Yeah, I'm still here. I'm just wondering how I got myself into this mess."

"None of this is your fault," she replied softly. "You could never have known that this is what was going to happen. I mean," she added, "it's not as though Paul was a player when he was younger. He's changed, and you couldn't have foreseen that."

"Maybe," I reluctantly mumbled. "But he still changed right in front of me, and I was either too busy or too blind to notice."

"Jules," she said in her no nonsense manner. It was the kind of tone that all parents use with their children from time to time. "You have to stop beating yourself up. Paul is the one who did something wrong. You're not to blame for any of it, understand?"

"I guess," I replied halfheartedly.

"Listen, I'm really sorry, but I've got to go," she added apologetically. I could hear Mason, her baby boy, in the background. He was crying softly; the sound of a hungry, growing child. "Think about what I said, and call me again if you need to talk. Any time, day or night."

"Thank you," I said with a grateful half smile that she would never see, but I hope she heard. "I really appreciate that."

"No problem," she responded. "You take care, honey."

"Bye," I sadly whispered, before slipping the phone back into its base. My gaze stayed fixed there for some time, not because I was drawn to the phone in particular. No, my focus remained there, because I was trying to resist the call of something else. If I ignored it, perhaps the feeling would pass.

However, it didn't. Eventually, I peered over my shoulder at the computer. After all that time, the screen had gone blank and a small amber light blinking slowly in the right hand corner. It was insane, I told myself. There was no way I would dance for ten dollar bills to be tucked into my panties. So, it was pointless even looking. And yet, my curiosity remained. In fact, it began to grow.

Muttering, "This is ridiculous," I picked myself off the bed and settled back in the chair by the desk. Quickly grabbing the mouse, I swept it across the pad, enlivening the screen once more. Not wishing to be reminded of the content of Paul's emails, I quickly signed out and closed that window. Then, I opened a fresh page and began a search.

After just a few minutes, I'd discovered that the pay of strippers varied dramatically depending on the clubs and how many private dances they were willing to offer. Nevertheless, it was apparently very possible for women to make between $2,000 and $3,000 per week. When I compared that with all of the entry level positions I would be qualified for, which paid minimum wage or just above, the choice seemed like a no-brainer. Grace was right, within just a few weeks, I could make enough money to put down a deposit and have a nice nest egg saved up.

Suddenly becoming aware of what I was doing, I pushed away from the desk and leaned back in the chair. "Am I actually considering this?" I whispered. I had shocked myself by how quickly I'd warmed to the idea and how attractive it was suddenly seeming.

Yes, it still seemed seedy. But I was beginning to realize I could live with that. After all, it would be for a finite, very short period of time. The alternative would mean staying with Paul, essentially prostituting myself (when he felt like having sex with me and not someone else), and trawling through a loveless, miserable existence. Being leered at by a few lonely men was a small price to pay to be free.

A silly smile began to spread across my face. There was another bonus to this plan, it would feel really good to get my own pay back on Paul. Although he'd never find out what I was doing, I could guess what his reaction would be if he did know. And that was enough; at least some vengeance would be had.

However, with that thought came an abrupt dampener to my heightening spirits. Paul could never know what I was doing. If he learned I was dancing in those places, despite the expression on his face being priceless, he would use it to argue that I was an unfit mother. If I danced in public, especially in the classier clubs that would be my preference, there was a possibility I'd be seen by someone Paul knows. That was a risk I could simply not afford to take.

# Chapter Seven

Work

Over the next couple of days, I continued to think very seriously about the possibility of stripping. Every time I stepped out of the shower, I carefully examined my body. For a woman who'd had three children, I wasn't in bad shape. Regular exercise and being usually careful to avoid any kind of junk food, had helped me stay trim. There were a few silvery stretch marks around my hips, but they were barely noticeable. After prodding my butt, I discovered a little wobble, but it was still pretty firm. Most of my skin was healthily bronzed by the summer sun, and the problem of paler patches could be easily solved with a little spray tan.

With the help of more make-up than I'd usually wear and the right outfit, I didn't think I'd look out of place in one of the more upmarket clubs. The more I thought, the more I became convinced not only that I could do it, but that it also offered me the escape route I needed.

As my interest refused to wane, I went back onto the internet and began scouting for clubs in various cities around the state. I was surprised by the large number of so-called gentleman's clubs. Most of their websites offered a section for 'career opportunities' and stressed that they were always looking for new talent. One page provided potential customers with a gallery of their dancers. Out of curiosity, I browsed the girls noting that many of them linked to their own websites.

Clicking on a blonde named, 'Snow', I was intrigued as to why a stripper would need a website. It turned out, Snow was a savvy business woman. She worked in a number of clubs and also offered private services in both dancing and escorting. Not only was she gaining some job security by diversifying, but also making a lot more money. With one night of escorting, she was earning what the average stripper gets in a week.

Closing the browser, I thought no more about it. At least, I wasn't aware of thinking about it. But as I lay in bed that night, my eyes wide open and focused on shadows that played across the ceiling, I continued to think about Snow and what she chose to do for a living. Sure, it was prostitution, and yet it was a very different world to the streetwalking variety.

Two things quickly occurred to me. One, if I stayed with Paul, I was going to be prostituting myself anyway. And two, men who hire escorts are much more likely to be discreet than men who go to strip joints.

Shaking my head, I couldn't quite believe the conclusions I was reaching. But one after another, I kept producing reasons why a brief career as an escort would be a good idea. I'd only have to work one night per week; I wouldn't have to take my clothes off in front of a room full of people; I could be selective over my clients and where I met them, ensuring I was always out of town.

But, I quickly slammed on the breaks of my runaway train of thought, there was the one huge sacrifice I would need to make. I would need to be prepared to allow complete strangers to use my body for their sexual pleasure. Was that something I could do? Was it something I would be able to live with afterward? The truth was, I didn't know.

However, there were only two alternatives; continue with the sham that was my marriage or leave Paul and accept that he would fight to take primary custody of our kids. I knew without any equivocation that I could live with neither of those things. The possible fallout may have been a complete unknown, but the fear of what _might_ happen was far less than the dread of playing the dutiful wife to a man I no longer respected, trusted or loved.

Unable to close my eyes, I pushed the covers off the bed and sat up. "I can try," I mumbled beneath my breath. "Just once."

Slipping off the bed, I tiptoed in the darkness to the computer and once more turned it on. If I'd made up my mind, I told myself, then I might as well get the ball rolling.

I wouldn't be able to set up my own site, at least not one in which I used a photograph, as there was too much chance of Paul, his parents, our friends and God knew who else seeing it. Instead, I'd need to use classified ads. There were several sites that would allow me to post free ones and there were a couple of message boards that offered a forum for escorts and potential clients to communicate.

After having read several other ads, I began to get a gist for the basic format and the kind of things that were important to customers. It took me almost an hour to write my own pitch, it was only 100 words long, but I struggled with the tone, wanting to get the right balance between classy and alluring. It's difficult enough to sell yourself for a regular job, when you're quite literally selling yourself, a personal statement (even a very short one) becomes incredibly hard.

However, by the time dawn broke, I had advertised myself on a total of five websites and had set up a new email account for the purpose.

Given the sheer number of young women who seemed to be trying to get work in exactly the same way, I didn't hold out much hope of hearing from anyone in the near future. In fact, regardless of the large amounts of money that could be made, I was beginning to wonder whether I would be able to make anything at all. There seemed to be a disproportionately large supply compared with demand.

Deciding that I would give the ads a couple of weeks, I determined to worry about a 'Plan B' only after that time had elapsed.

In the meantime, I had to go back to being a mom; there were children that needed to be woken, fed and shipped off to school.

***

As it turned out, I didn't have to wait two weeks. Just three days passed before I received my first email inquiry. I'd almost dismissed it as spam, feeling sure that I had no chance of generating interest so quickly. However, the subject line, 'Looking for some company on Saturday night', caused me to stop dead in my tracks.

I was about to open the message, but a voice from the doorway caused me to jolt in surprise.

"Mom," Dylan said brightly. "Can I have some ice cream?"

My head snapped around, as I shut the browser window. It was a nonsensical reaction, there was nothing revealing on the screen, my son couldn't see it anyway and even if he could, he certainly wasn't close enough to read. "How many times have I told you about knocking on that door before you come in," I grumbled, pushing myself off the chair and moving toward him.

"I did," he replied.

"Well, I didn't say 'come in'," I said, coaxing him around with a light touch at his shoulder.

He followed my silent guiding without hesitation or argument. "I'm sorry," he continued. "Can I have some ice cream, though?" he quickly added, returning to his primary concern.

"Not right now," I responded, walking down the hall with him.

"Ahhh, Mom," he moaned loudly. "Please!" he begged, turning to me and pressing his hands together in front of his chest. "Please, please, please," he rapidly added, his eyes taking on that dolefully expression he was so very good at.

Shaking my head apologetically, I hustled him ahead of me and we descended the stairs. "Maybe," I softly suggested, but before I could get the rest of the sentence out, my young son was already punching the air furiously.

"Yes!" he yelled delightedly.

"Maybe," I repeated, stressing the word this time. "If you eat all your dinner and promise to go to bed on time, I'll see what I can do about the ice cream."

"I love you, Mom," he said, turning his big brown eyes to me and grinning broadly. It was his standard way of trying to keep me sweet. His father used to do something similar when we were younger.

With the promise of ice cream, dinner was a much smoother affair than usual and I made a mental note to use bribery more often. All three children, even Kate, ate every last piece of their meal, including the greens that typically got pushed around until I got tired of trying to coax them into a mouth. Lizzie offered to help me clear away, which was no doubt a ploy to get an extra-large scoop, but it was appreciated nonetheless.

Putting them to bed that night, I spent a little longer looking at their adorable, peaceful faces. They were growing so quickly, time had been passing me by and I'd been largely oblivious to it. The shock of Paul's infidelity had caused me to put my existence into some sort of perspective. Almost thirty, and all I had to show for those years were the three kids who meant the world to me. Of course, they made me want to tear my hair out at times, but I couldn't imagine life without their mischievous charm. I wouldn't want to live in a world without them in it, my children were the only thing that made life make sense.

Closing Lizzie and Dylan's doors, and leaving Kate's fractionally ajar so she still had a little light from the hallway, I walked slowly back to my own bedroom. With a renewed sense of purpose, I settled in front of the computer screen and opened the email I'd received earlier that evening.

Hi,

I'm David, I read your advertisement and wondered if you're free on Saturday night. I know it's a bit short notice, but I have an unplanned stop in the state and I hate to be alone. Would love to learn more about you, and maybe see a picture? If you'd like to know what I look like, just say the word.

I leaned back for a moment, as the reality of what I'd done, and was planning to do, sunk in. Paul wasn't coming home until Sunday afternoon, so I certainly had the night free. However, I hadn't been expecting things to happen so quickly. I'd thought it would be at least a month, and probably much more, before I was actually working. I hadn't really had a chance to mentally prepare.

In retrospect, no matter how long it had taken, I know I would never have been prepared. It simply isn't the sort of thing that can be prepared for. But, at the time, part of me was arguing that I just needed a few weeks to really adjust to the prospect of selling my body.

However, something overrode that instinct, because I was already opening the many files of photographs we had stored on the computer. I managed to find a couple of me dressed in an evening gown at some fancy function Paul's company had organized six months previously. Choosing the one I liked best, I carefully cropped my husband out of the image, before attaching it to a new email.

I wrote a quick message, telling him that I was available if he was still interested and that I didn't need to know what he looked like.

As I clicked on 'send', I told myself his appearance didn't matter. However, I knew that my subconscious choice had been more to do with ignorance being bliss. If he was in his sixties or seventies, with a beer gut and tobacco stained teeth, the anticipation of spending the night with him would be filled with even more dread than it already was. Sex, for me, had always been inextricably linked with love. It had never been purely physical, and because Paul was my first and only lover, it had always been with someone I trusted. The thought of giving myself to a stranger; a man about whom I knew nothing and who didn't care about me, was entirely foreign and caused me to shudder.

However, I was forced to remind myself that that wasn't completely true. I no longer knew Paul and, for the last few months at least, he'd stopped caring about me. The last time we'd had sex was certainly evidence of that fact. Was offering my body to David really any different than the last time I'd been to bed with my own husband?

It only took a few minutes for him to write again.

Hey,

Thanks for getting in touch. You're a very beautiful woman, and I am definitely interested in enjoying the pleasure of your company on Saturday. You haven't mentioned fee, but it's not a problem. Whatever you charge, I'm happy to pay it.

I'm staying at the Hyatt, room 405. If you could be here at about 8pm, that would be good. Let me know. Thanks!

Before I had time to talk myself out of it, I wrote a reply confirming that I would be there at eight o'clock.

Breathing rapidly, as I pushed the chair away from the desk, I realized that it was done. I was really going to go through with it. I had just two days to arrange a babysitter and get myself ready for what would be the most bizarre date of my life. I quickly made a list of all the things that needed to be done; my legs, although always smoothly shaved, would probably need waxing; my small, neat patch of pubic hair would have to go, too. I'd never favored the Brazilian style, but I understood enough about what was popular among men to know that the hairless look would be expected. My nails required a fresh manicure; hair needed styling; and my tan lines from wearing a bikini had to be removed.

In short, I had to look perfect. There was a lot of work to be done.

# Chapter Eight

First Times A Charm

Nervous doesn't begin to describe how I felt as I walked down the hotel corridor. The backs of my legs shook so much that they felt weak, and I must have looked a bit like a newborn deer. Having felt so confident that I could go through with the night, I suddenly knew that it was nothing but bravado; intended only to convince myself.

Who was I kidding?

Having only ever slept with one man, I was almost as inexperienced as they come. Even when we were engaged and first married, Paul and I were never particularly adventurous in the bedroom. If this man had some peculiar tastes or fetishes, would I know what to do? Even if he didn't want something weird, would I be able to please him?

"Oh shit," I whispered, seriously contemplating turning around and bolting back to the elevator. "Oh shit, oh shit," I breathed. Halting the movement of my feet, I forced myself to breathe deeply. Smoothing my hands down the skirt of my red cocktail dress, I released a steady, slow exhale. I glanced down at my cleavage which was thrust up by a brand new bra I'd bought the day before. My legs were covered in black stockings and my feet securely tucked into four-inch stilettos. Flicking my newly wavy hair off my shoulder, I swallowed the anxious lump in my throat. "Pull yourself together," I softly mumbled.

When the temptation to turn back crept higher, I reminded myself why I was there. This was never about doing something that I wanted to, but what I felt I had to do. It was about putting my own fears and prudish concerns aside, because the end would justify the means.

Before I'd ordered them to do so, my feet were once more moving. The thoughts that had been racing discordantly through my head stopped and focused on the door numbers, until I reached '405'.

Quickly moistening my lips, I lifted my hand with the fingernails colored the same shade of red as my dress, and tapped softly on the door. I counted the deep thuds of my heart, while I waited for an answer. There were twelve. And then, slowly and gently the door was pulled open.

The man was much younger than I had expected, he must have been somewhere in his mid-thirties. He had dark, almost jet black hair that was cut in a neat Ivy League style, with a side parting. He was clean shaven, with soft features and dark brown eyes under quite long black lashes. As he looked at me, he smiled a little lopsided grin. "Hi," he greeted warmly, pulling the door open wider.

"Hi," I echoed, my eyes now taking in the view of the rest of his body. He was around six feet something, with strong, broad shoulders. He was wearing pinstriped black pants and a white dress shirt, with the cuffs undone.

"I'm David," he said, continuing to smile, as he moved to one side of the entry way and gestured an open hand into the room.

"Thank you," I nodded, managing a nervy smile in return as I stepped across the threshold. "I'm Arianna," I murmured, remembering to use the name I'd chosen for my call girl persona, rather than my real one. All the girls used fake names, most of them were tacky: Destinee, Lotus, Candy that kind of thing. I wanted something that sounded a little exotic and mysterious, but was still classy. I unconsciously drew in a breath as I passed him and was met with the earthy, spicy scent of whatever aftershave he'd just used. Swallowing, I silently reminded myself that it didn't matter what he smelled or looked like. I was here to do a job.

I couldn't help but feel grateful that he was attractive, though. Faking an interest in him would be made easier by the fact he was easy on the eyes.

"Can I get you a drink?" he asked, closing the door behind him.

I stopped in the room's small living space. It wasn't quite a suite, but there were two comfortable chairs and a coffee table, with a brand new TV on the wall and a minibar in the corner. Beyond that, in the open plan space was the bed. It was a king size, with crisp white sheets, four plump pillows and a beige bed scarf with the Hyatt Regency logo embroidered in the corner. "Umm, yes, please," I managed to softly mumble, remembering that he had asked me a question.

"What can I get you?" I added, already moving to the minibar. "I'm on vodka myself," he said pointing to the one liter bottle of Smirnoff that was clearly not the hotels. "But you can have whatever you like."

"Vodka's fine," I quickly stated. With my rising nerves, the stronger the alcohol, the better.

"Great," he nodded. "Take a seat," he urged, grasping two shot glasses and the bottle.

As I settled into one of the armchairs, keeping a hand on the hem of my dress to stop it riding too high, he took the few strides toward me and tossed himself into the other seat. With a tired sigh, he slipped the glasses onto the table and began unscrewing the bottle.

"So, umm," I softly mumbled, trying to think of something to say. "What brings you here?"

"Oh, just work," he shrugged. "I was supposed to be heading back yesterday, but my office messed up the arrangements and I had to stay longer than planned."

"I see," I nodded, watching him pour some of the crystal clear liquid into each shot glass. "Sorry to hear that."

"It's ok," he quickly insisted. "I'm kind of glad now. If I'd gone home Friday, I would have never had the opportunity to meet you," he smoothly said, placing the bottle down and lifting his glass as if to toast.

Carefully, I reached for my own drink and lifted it to his. We clinked the edges of the glasses together, before both swallowing the shot whole. It instantly brought a flush of tears to my eyes and a burning to my throat which I tried to mask, but a cough erupted despite my efforts.

"Okay?" he asked, chuckling.

"Yeah," I assured him, hoarsely.

He grinned skeptically, before accepting my word with a brief nod. "Well," he sighed, lifting himself from the chair just enough to reach into his back pocket. "I said money wasn't an object, but I'd like to get it out of the way, if that's all right with you," he said, pulling the wallet out and flipping it open.

"Sure," I replied.

"That way, we can get on with enjoying the night, huh?"

"Right," I agreed. "Umm, exactly what services do you want from me?" I wondered, embarrassment causing my cheeks to warm. I hoped he might think the reddening was caused by the drink.

"I was hoping you'd be able to spend about six hours with me," he unabashedly said. "Err, you offer full sex, right?"

My mouth suddenly went very dry and I could only nod in response.

"Well, I don't want anything too strange or out of the ordinary," he added. "I guess it's called the umm, girlfriend experience?" he finished with a crease of his eyebrow.

Again, I nodded, my throat unwilling to cooperate in the making of any sounds. I'd seen the phrase 'girlfriend experience' on the many escort ads I'd seen online. And had been able to create an idea of what that would entail. I was beyond grateful that David didn't have an unusual fetish he wished to act out with me. Girlfriend experience was probably something I could just about manage.

"So?" he uttered, his thumb slipping over a large wedge of bills.

"Oh, sorry," I blurted shaking my head and realizing that this had been leading to me giving him a figure for my services. "Well, that'll be...errr... $1800." I spoke so haltingly and anxiously that I was worried my inexperience would be obvious to him.

He said nothing, while he flicked through the bills and then pulled out a fistful of them. Silently, he placed the cash on the table, before getting up and replacing his wallet in his pants. "Now," he smiled, "that's out of the way, we can concentrate on having a good time. Would you like something to eat?" he offered, visibly relaxing into the chair.

The casual way he'd dealt with the payment seemed so strange to me, and yet it was obviously necessary to separate the transaction and the 'good time'. "Sounds great," I replied, forcing a broad smile. In truth, I was so scared I didn't think I'd be able to keep anything down. But if he wanted to have dinner, then it was my job to ensure he got what he wanted. Reaching forward I scooped the cash off the table and slipped it into my purse.

"You want to go down to the restaurant?" he asked, tipping his head to the door. "Or should we just get some room service and eat up here?"

"Whatever you'd prefer," I offered warmly.

"Hmm," he looked at me, while he thought for several seconds. "On one hand, I'd like to have you on my arm. On the other, I'd kind of like to have you to myself," he chuckled.

I felt uncomfortable not only with the way he spoke about me; as if I were a commodity, but also by the way he looked at me. It was a hungry, appreciative gaze; a look that reminded me of the way a lioness eyes her prey. Of course, on the surface, I tried to let none of those emotions show. And, I had to concede, I was a commodity of sorts. I was bought and paid for.

"I think it'll be nicer to stay up here," he eventually said, cradling the back of his head in his hands. "We can really talk," he added.

While I drained another shot glass of vodka, David called down to room service and ordered for us both. I don't even remember what I had, I know I didn't spend long choosing, sure that I wouldn't touch any of it any way.

However, by the time the meal arrived, I'd had another shot and was beginning to feel much more relaxed.

David had professed an interest in learning more about me, but I'd successfully been vague in most of my answers and flipped the questions back to him. As he talked about his career as head of a sales team for a pharmaceutical company, I almost forgot the circumstances under which were we meeting.

"What about free time?" I asked, unconsciously sticking my fork into a piece of ravioli. "Any hobbies?"

"Ha," he exhaled. "What free time?" He was quiet for a moment, as he poured himself another glass of the red wine he'd order with the meal. "It feels like I'm always working, that's certainly what my ex thought."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I quickly apologized when I noted the sadness in his eyes.

"Don't be," he dismissed with a wave of his free hand. "It's not your fault." Carefully placing the bottle back down, he picked up his glass and lifted it to his lips, flashing me a smile before taking a mouthful. "But it's been tough since she left," he admitted. "My ridiculously busy schedule makes it impossible to meet anyone and I'm the kind of person that hates to be alone, you know?"

I nodded, remembering what he'd written in his first email. However, it seemed insane to me that a man like him would need to hire the services of an escort. He was young, handsome and charming. There would be any number of women who would be happy to have a one-night stand with him if that's all he could commit to.

However, his desires for the evening came back to the forefront of my mind: the girlfriend experience. He didn't want a one-night stand per se, it wasn't about a quick roll in the hay. He wanted companionship, he wanted to spend this time talking, sharing some laughs and for all intents and purposes, pretending we'd known each other for much longer than we had. If he just wanted a fuck, he could have gone down to the bar and picked up a girl or headed out on the streets to find a hooker. In fact, he could even have demanded that I get my clothes off as soon as I'd walked in the door.

"You're a sweet man," I told him, unaware of a compulsion to do so. The alcohol had loosened me up just enough to prevent my self censor from working properly. "I mean, someday a girl is going to be very lucky to have you."

He grinned, as he lifted his napkin and wiped the sides of his mouth. "I'm sure you've heard this a lot," he responded, tossing the napkin onto his empty plate and leaning back in his chair. "But you are an incredibly sexy woman."

I actually felt myself blushing and quickly glanced down to avoid his eyes. The truth was, I hadn't heard it a lot. Paul had said it twice, maybe three times, the whole time I'd known him. "Thank you," I gracelessly mumbled.

Suddenly, David was getting to his feet. He moved around the small table until he reached my side. There, he sank into a crouched position. Still, I couldn't bring myself to look at his face. And this was not something that went unnoticed.

Slowly, he crooked his warm index finger beneath my chin and coaxed my hand around. "The fact that hearing how sexy you are embarrasses you," he said, a teasing grin quirking the corners of his mouth, "makes you even sexier."

"I...I..." I stammered, shaking my head slightly. The next time I opened my mouth, nothing came out. It didn't have the chance. David's lips were unexpectedly melded to mine. He softly moved them, the tip of his tongue occasionally darting out to take a taste of my lip. For a long second the shock of his rapid movement startled me into stillness. However, as he slowly caressed my mouth with his own, I surrendered myself to the feeling. With a soft moan, I parted my lips and understanding the unintelligible call, his tongue slipped quickly over mine.

Even as it deepened, the kiss remained soft and exploratory. Nevertheless, it was doing entirely unexpected things to me. A warmth was spreading through my abdomen, which I tried to rationalize was from the wine and shots of vodka consumed earlier. I could never have admitted it, not even to myself, at the time, but I was enjoying that kiss. David was good; gentle, but with just the right amount of pressure. His tongue roamed playfully, rather than aggressively and he tasted nice; a mixture of Merlot and tomato pasta sauce.

What's more, I was excited by the promise of where the kiss would lead.

# Chapter Nine

Not Just A Job

I don't recall how I went from sitting at the table to laying on the bed. I do know that my head was swimming and it wasn't just thanks to my old friend the fermented potato.

David's mouth was still moving leisurely over mine, occasionally sucking my lower lip between his teeth. He was lying next to me on his side, pressing the length of his body to mine, while one arm draped across me and the hand gently caressed my hip.

By that stage, I was beginning to return his kiss with an enthusiasm I didn't have to fake. One of my hands had unconsciously smoothed up his chest and curled over his shoulder, while the other snaked around the back of his head and was pulling him that little bit closer. As I tightened my fingers, gripping a handful of his smooth, thick hair, a guttural groan reverberated from his open mouth to mine.

Fluidly, he eased his hand over the curve of my pelvis and began to confidently stroke his way down my thigh. When he reached my knee, he hooked his fingers behind my leg and pulled it upward. As his tongue slipped carefully over the roof of my mouth, he tugged my leg around his waist and placed the weight of his upper body on top of mine.

With a subtle, easy movement his thigh glided between my legs and the warmth of his flesh, even through clothing, caused my hips to jolt in search of a more satisfying contact.

With a noisy unclasping of wet mouths, he tenderly released his lips from mine and took several deep breaths. "You're so beautiful," he quietly said, his dangerously dark eyes staring intently at my face.

Even if my brain had been capable of coherent thought, I wouldn't have known what to say in response. But with his fingers slowly curling around to my inner thigh and edging their way higher, it was all I could do to remember to breathe.

In the silent room, there were three sounds that would otherwise have gone unnoticed; David's slightly labored breathing; my irregularly pounding heart and the soft grazing of large, masculine fingers moving over sheer nylon.

When he reached the lace tops of my stockings, the corners of his mouth twitched in a smile. Delicately, he traced the intricate swirling pattern with the backs of his fingers. "Do you mind if we leave these on?" he asked, his voice suddenly a pitch lower than it had been before.

"Of...of course," I hoarsely responded, my eyelids flickering as the sensation he was creating on my inner thigh became enough to make me grip my bottom lip between my teeth. As he began to move again, creeping ever higher, the scorching heat of his touch seemed to burn the naked flesh of my upper thigh. It caused me to jump and he instantly withdrew his fingers.

"I'm sorry," he said, smiling warmly.

"No, no," I quickly spoke over his apology. "Don't stop, I just...umm," My chest began to move rapidly, as I got lost in his warm, gentle eyes. "It felt good," I eventually whispered.

His face swept closer and his eyelids drifted closed before his lips melded to mine in a more insistent and passionate kiss. It was as if he'd gained in confidence, and as his tongue entwined with mine, his fingers resumed their journey up my inner thigh.

My brain could not keep up with what was happening or, more importantly, with the reactions my body was having to his actions. As the tip of his fingers reached the crease of my groin, and my hips bucked in response, I realized I no longer had any control.

He slipped his finger to the edge of my panties, and carefully worked his way beneath the lacy, black fabric.

Whimpering, I automatically opened my legs wider, as the soft pads of two fingers massaged the freshly waxed flesh of my outer lips.

Lifting his face from mine, David's eyes sparkled. "Arianna," he tenderly said, as he drew his fingers between my folds and found me damp. "You feel so good."

This was nothing like I'd expected. I'd assumed a client would be solely interested in getting his pleasure, possibly at the expense of an escort, but certainly with no thought for sensitivity or sensuality – the things that were perceived as purely feminine desires.

"Oh, God," he groaned, his index finger circling the rim of my entrance.

My back arched and my mouth fell open with a quiet sigh of need, while my hands gripped him more tightly. Only Paul had ever touched my sex, only Paul had ever entered me. Before that night, I'd believed that the touch of any other man would feel wholly wrong; that my body would reject the prospect and the whole ordeal would be forgettable at best and painful at worst. In fact, the reality was more exhilarating and arousing than I ever could have imagined.

David wasn't treating me like a cheap whore nor was he behaving like a stranger who simply wanted to take something from me. And yet, on some level, I still felt sluttish and rather than wanting to run from that sensation I yearned for more.

"Arianna," he whispered, his face coming back to mine and light kisses being placed along my jaw. "I know you said strictly protected sex," he mumbled quietly, his lips tickling the top of my neck. "But how do you feel about oral?"

My eyes opened sharply and I was abruptly pulled from the sexy haze I'd been lounging in. Now, it seemed I was required to actually do something. It was a harsh reminder of the fact I wasn't there to enjoy myself. It was work. "Umm," I blabbered, while I tried to organize my thoughts.

"It's just not the same with something between us," he continued, rising his head and peering down at me. "And not that you have any reason to trust me, but I promise I'm safe."

"I trust you," I breathlessly replied, unsure why I felt so certain I could. Nevertheless, I believed him.

"So, it's okay?" he asked, smiling hopefully.

His index finger was still circling my sex in slow, smooth, hypnotic motions. In that instant, I think I may have said 'yes' to whatever he asked. "All right," I nervously offered, pushing myself into a sitting position.

Fellatio was not something I'd had much experience in. Paul had always wanted me to deep throat him and, after a few failed attempts, he decided he'd rather not bother with it at all. I was anxious about my ability to pleasure a man with my mouth, it had certainly never done much for my husband.

David, oblivious to my concerns, was also pushing himself into a seated position. Flashing a sexy grin at me, he placed both hands on my legs and lifted himself between them. "Just relax," he softly instructed, his hands smoothing up my thighs and pushing my dress up with them. Carefully, he placed his thumbs in the elastic of my underwear and began to edge it off my hips.

"I..." I mumbled. "I thought you meant," I added, fumbling gracelessly with my words.

"Oh," he chuckled, sliding my panties over my knees and smoothing them all the way to my ankles. "This is okay, right?" he added, carefully lifting one of my stilletoed feet and tugging my underwear completely from me.

"Whatever you want," I nodded, as my panties were removed from my opposite foot and tossed on the bed by his side.

His large hands returning to my waist, he encouraged me to lie back, while inching the dress just a little higher still.

I settled anxiously onto the mattress, my eyes not daring to look down at what he was doing. I was completely exposed to his hungry gaze; his silence and lack of movement as he seemed to carefully take in every detail of me, was unnerving.

However, eventually, he did move. Lifting one of my legs, he placed the knee on his shoulder, before shuffling closer to me. Turning his head to the side, he brushed his lips across the naked skin at the top of my stockings, creating sparks of electricity that shot up to the juncture of my thighs. He kissed his way steadily higher until, as if in slow motion, his tongue began to push its way between my plump folds.

"Ohh," I moaned, my voice shaking and body convulsing slightly.

David responded with a rapid lick upward to my clit. It was so sensitive that the touch of his tongue made me feel as though I had been electrocuted and I shuddered beneath him. With a soft grunt, he drew lazy circles across my tight bud, surprising me when he suddenly slipped the tip of one finger inside my entrance.

"God," I yelped, unable to prevent the reflex to buck my hips.

It might have been no more than my imagination, but I was sure I could feel his lips smiling, as he gradually lapped more feverishly at my clitoris. Desperately, my hands darted down to his head and ran restlessly across his scalp. I had never experienced anything quite so intense in my life. I could feel the heat flushing my face, as I panted shallow breathes and exhaled weak groans and mutters of pleasure.

As he mixed up the rhythm and movement of his tongue, drawing long strokes rather than focusing solely on my tiny bud of nerve endings, he pushed his finger a little deeper. With a slight curve of his finger, he began rubbing at the front wall of my passage, causing yet more strong quakes of ecstasy to rock me.

I watched the top of his head as he slowly made his way back to my clit and began to move in strong, purposeful jerks. As his smooth, skillful tongue strummed at my engorged flesh, his finger rubbed harder and faster at the spongy skin inside my sex.

The ascent was quick; the heat inside me rocketed and my head span violently. When I felt that I was about to explode, I sucked in a deep breath and held it firmly in my lungs. My trembling limbs suddenly locked tight, my thighs clamped around David's head, my fingers seized around handfuls of hair. As the molten pleasure sent warmth spilling through my body, my mouth fell open and I could not hold back the screeches of sheer joy. Meanwhile, my hips swayed, pressing more firmly against his mouth in an attempt to make the feeling last forever.

But it didn't last forever. All too quickly, the feeling seeped to my extremities and dissipated through the tips of my fingers and toes. With that came a relaxing of the spasms that had claimed every inch of me and I finally released him. My head dropping back onto the bed, I gasped for air.

I was unaware of David slowly rising from his position between my legs and drawing his upper body level with mine. "You taste incredible," he hummed, his lips close to my face.

Sluggishly opening my eyes, I found his features hanging a couple of inches over mine. His lips and the skin around them were moist and shiny from my arousal; his hair was mussed from where I'd viciously grabbed it and the sides of his face were a little red from my impersonation of a boa constrictor.

"Oh," I muttered, my post-orgasm vision taking a while to focus. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine," he dismissed quickly. "It was a genuine reaction," he added. "I love that."

"Well," I quietly hedged, my eyes leaving his and drifting to his mouth. "You're very good," I whispered, unsure whether I'd said the words aloud or if they'd remained in my head.

He laughed a little self-effacingly, his lower half gently pressing against mine. "I don't know about that," he mumbled. "But you're incredibly responsive."

I felt my eyebrows creep upward, as the swell of his groin suddenly made itself known against my inner thigh. I'd guessed he must have been aroused, but not having noticed the evidence of it, the suddenness of his shockingly hard member caught me by surprise.

"I want you," he whispered.

"I'm all yours," I replied breathlessly.

He lunged his head forward, claiming my mouth in a kiss that now tasted of both him and me. It was brief, but spoke of the heights of his desire. Quickly, he was pushing himself up, his hands already unfastening his shirt.

I followed him, sitting up and grabbing the bottom of his shirt. I rapidly unclasped some of the lower buttons, my shaky fingers meeting him somewhere in the middle. We both giggled as we fought over the last fastener. He won, making short work of the final button and peeling the white, crisp shirt off his shoulders.

He was very well built, with chiseled chest muscles and washboard abs. Unlike Paul, David had a neat pattern of dark hair that began at his collarbone and spread across his broad chest muscles. At his abdomen, a strip of finer hair drew a line between his abs and disappeared beneath the waistband of his pants.

As I realized I was staring at the incredibly sculptured, masculine torso before me, another revelation hit me. I'd always believed I preferred a smooth, hairless chest, but there was something so rugged and masculine about David's torso. Something a little feral; animalistic and unspeakably sexy.

When my eyes finally made it back to his face, I found him smiling at me. "Will I do?" he asked, with a great deal of humor and just a small degree of nervousness in his tone.

"Oh, yeah," I grinned. "You'll definitely do," I added, my hands reaching for his belt buckle and beginning to wrench it open.

Carefully, he took hold of my wrists, stilling my hands before peeling them away from him. When I followed his silent instructions, he gradually released me and in response to my confused and startled expression, he reached both arms around my back. With the finger and thumb of his right hand, he took hold of the tiny zipper at the back of my dress and leisurely pulled it down. As the bodice began to slacken, he used his left hand to coax the strap off my shoulder. As he did, he dipped his head forward and kissed the small piece of skin it had once covered.

I shrugged out of the opposite side, causing the front of my dress to fall in a puddle at my middle. The tiny straps had meant I'd had to forgo a bra and my breasts were now naked to his scrutiny. His eyes actually moved steadily between my bosom and my face, locking on the latter as he cupped one hand to each breast.

His fingers moved smoothly, massaging the globes of flesh with just the right amount of pressure. His thumbs meanwhile, rubbed teasingly over my nipples, prompting me to mewl plaintively. All too soon, his hands were gone, slipping down my torso and pushing the dress down. I lifted my butt, helping him ease it off my hips, then he swept it down my legs and over my feet with ease.

With the exception of my stockings and stilettos, I was completely nude. And I realized, as I glanced down my body, that the soft skin around my sex was glistening with the same fluid that had been spread around Ben's mouth.

But that didn't seem to bother him. He quickly shuffled back, slipping off the bed and reaching for the cabinet on the right side. Yanking open the top drawer, he enclosed something in his hand, before quickly closing it again. With his free fingers, he unbuckled his belt with ease and unfastened the fly of his pants. With the help of gravity, they quickly dropped to the floor and he kicked them, and his shoes, off.

"I'm sorry," he said, gripping the thick elastic waistband of his boxer briefs and forcing them over his hips. "But I need you right now, I can't wait any longer."

# Chapter Ten

The Escort Next Door

My jaw slackened as his underwear was pushed down his legs and his manhood sprung free. His circumcised penis was huge; thick, long and perfectly smooth. It was rock hard, which was obvious even without touching him.

"It's all right," he said calmly. "I've got a rubber," he added, holding up the thing he'd retrieved from the drawer just seconds before.

I tried to relax, to ensure that he didn't realize my expression of mild alarm was for a completely different reason. I forced a smile, as I watched him slide the condom down to the base of his shaft with practiced ease.

He then bent at the waist scooping his boxers and socks off, before moving back to the bed. I scooted into the middle of the mattress, one hand leaning down and grabbing the large heel of one shoe.

"No," he quickly urged. "Leave those on, too."

"Okay," I nodded. I was expecting him to climb onto the bed and place himself between my slightly parted legs.

However, he simply sat on the edge, turning his head over his shoulder at me. "Come here," he encouraged with a playful jerk of his head.

I followed his instructions, sitting up then rolling onto my knees and shuffling across the bed toward him. As soon as I was within reach, he wrapped one arm around me and pulled me closer. The other hand curled over my hip, the fingers reaching my ass. With both arms able to guide me, he compelled me to lift one leg over his so I was straddling him.

My eyes were fixed on the hard rod between his legs. The rounded head, beneath a thin layer of cream latex, that was straining toward my sex. Using his shoulders for balance, I slowly peered into his face.

"Please, Arianna," he groaned, his hips involuntary jerking.

Taking a steady, slow inhale, I realized that there was no turning back. I had passed the point of no return. Of course, what I wouldn't have admitted then was that I would not have turned back even if I could have. Forcing myself to breathe calmly, I slowly lowered my hips. David's hands were sliding serenely over my lower back, occasionally dipping to caress the curve of my buttocks.

I closed my eyes and tipped my head back, as I felt his domed tip begin to force its way inside me. I held still, giving my entrance a chance to adjust to the unfamiliarly significant girth. However, instead of the discomfort I expected to experience as he entered, the sensation was satisfying. Ready for him, my body wanted to be stretched and I instinctively sank deeper.

"Ugh," he groaned, his hands clasping my buttocks tightly. "Yeah, that's good."

"Hmm," I moaned luxuriously, inching further and further until my outer lips met his firm pubic bone. Startled, I opened my eyes and snatched a glance down to our joined bodies. I was amazed that he was buried to the hilt, he was completely sheathed within me; filling me in a way that felt unbearably good.

It obviously felt pretty good for him, too. His pupils were dilated, he was gasping heavily and his brow had a few beads of sweat. As he tipped his face to the ceiling, I watched his throat flex as he swallowed.

Running my right hand down the length of his arm, I clasped his fingers between mine and lifted his hand to my mouth. Moistening my lips, I guided two of his fingers over my tongue, closing my mouth around them. When this caused his hips to thrust against mine, I sucked hard on them.

"Arianna," he whispered, his head thrusting forward. His tongue moved frantically between my breasts, following the curve of one before moving to the center and latching onto the nipple. He gently grazed it with his teeth before tapping it with the tip of his tongue. It grew harder under his attention, painfully so.

"Ahh," I cried, releasing his hand. Writhing, I rubbed my slick clit against his rigid body. I couldn't hold back any longer. With a suddenness that surprised even me, I forced my thighs into action, lifting my body, before hurriedly slapping back down. This time, as his dick slid into my wet passage, it seemed to go deeper. "Ugh," I grunted as my ass slapped against his thighs.

David tried to keep his mouth on my breasts, lapping and sucking as best he could at the moving target.

Needing the leverage, I put my hands back on his shoulder and began to bounce up and down on his thick, stiff shaft. As he buried his face in my cleavage, I wrapped my hands around his head, enjoying the feel of his panted breath against my skin.

My own lungs were expelling air in excited shrieks and squeals. Soon, my legs no longer had the strength to lift me to the top of his penis. Instead, I could only manage feeble shallow thrusts.

David began to help me, his hands guiding my hips and supporting some of my weight. However, his motions had become equally rapid and uncoordinated. As his grunts and my cries rose and combined, he lifted his face to mine.

I peered down at his sweaty expression, my breasts jiggling around so violently that they were slapping against the underside of his chin.

"Ugh, God. You're so hot," he panted. "Arianna, you're...you're so fucking hot."

"Ahhh," I cried, an extra strong jolt against his pubic bone sending waves of orgasm through me.

As my internal muscles spasmed and clamped him, David began to desperately buck beneath me. "Yes," he groaned. "Ugh, Christ!" His hands tightened at my hips, fingertips digging into the thin flesh.

Aftershocks caused me to jerk and writhe against him for several more seconds, while our pounding hearts began to slow. I could feel his pulse pressed against my right breast and remember marveling, just for a moment, at the fact our hearts seemed to be racing in time with each other.

Eventually, I grew still. My butt falling to his lap and my sex pressed as close to his as I could get. My arms were wrapped tightly around him, unwilling or perhaps unable to let go. His softening shaft was still tucked snugly within me and I was in no hurry to break the spell of calm, comfort and serenity that had descended over the two of us.

"Are you okay?" he softly asked, his hands making lazy patterns up my spine.

With a ridiculous smile on my face, I nodded, knowing he would feel the movement against the side of his face. "I'm good," I said, my voice thick and weary. "Was it okay for you?" I quickly added, remembering suddenly that I'd been moving to the demands of my own body; chasing an orgasm for myself without the conscious awareness that the only person that mattered was him – the paying customer.

"Are you kiddin'?" he laughed. "God," he sighed. "That was incredible."

"Are you sure?" I insisted, releasing my hold of him enough to tip back and look at his face.

"Arianna," he said, shaking his head with amusement. "I haven't had an orgasm like that in a long time."

"Me neither." The words slipped out before I had a chance to hold them back. "I mean," I added, wanting to backtrack, but unsure how to without offending him. Giving up the search for something that would make me sound more experienced, I shrugged. "I guess, I mean exactly what I said," I sighed. "It's been a long time since I've felt like that."

"You know," he said, with his lopsided smile. "Coming from any other woman who does what you do, I would think that you were just telling the client what he wants to hear," he continued. "But I believe you. And I can't tell you how good that makes me feel."

"Really?" I asked, cocking my head to one side. The fact that we were still joined, still naked, entwined in each other's arms didn't seem in the least bit odd. Instead, talking to him like that felt like the most natural thing in the world. I was more relaxed than I'd been all day, more relaxed than I'd felt for months, maybe even years.

"A woman's orgasm," he began, his eyes drifting to a spot on the wall behind me, "is beyond beautiful. It's beyond sexy. It's one of those rare special, fleeting moments when life seems to make sense; my life seems to make sense, you know?" he finished, nervously searching my face for understanding.

"Yeah," I offered quietly, "I guess I do."

"What are we all here for if it's not to give and receive pleasure from each other?" he added. "I don't mean just sex, and I don't mean seeking pleasure when it's going to hurt someone else. But those moments that make us feel alive, those are what are precious."

I nodded silently, ruminating on what he'd said. In a nutshell, he'd summed up the job of an escort. Companionship was a form of pleasure; sexual gratification was quite obviously a source of it, too. The role of an escort was to bring some of those precious experiences to another human being.

I wasn't naïve enough to believe that all men who hired call girls were as nice or as affectionate as David, but maybe they weren't all as sex-crazed and selfish as I'd assumed either.

"Anyway," he said, nudging my thoughts aside. "I guess, I'd better," he muttered, tilting his head toward his groin, "take that off."

"Oh, right," I blurted, suddenly remembering the condom that was still covering him and now filled. "Then, I guess I'd better get up," I stated obviously, sliding my hands back onto his shoulders, which were clammy with drying sweat, and pushing my lower half off his lap.

His hands remained securely on my waist as I rocked back and placed my feet on the ground. "I...umm," he grinned, his eyes moving appreciatively up and down my body. "I hope to make you come like that again before the night is out."

"Huh?" I quizzically muttered, glancing at the digital clock on the bedside. There were another three hours of David's time with me. Did it make me even more of a whore that I smiled like the Cheshire cat when I realized that?

***

It was almost three in the morning when I eventually got home. I'd ended up staying an extra half an hour with David. It was time I'd assured him he didn't need to pay for, especially since he'd promised to hire me again next time he was in town. In fact, he'd even suggesting flying me across the country to spend evenings with him elsewhere. With the kids and trying to keep my moonlighting secret, out of state trips would have proven difficult. However, I was certainly keen and said I'd think about it. In any case, he insisted on paying for the additional thirty minutes, and while his hand was in his wallet he grabbed some cash for my cab fare.

By the time I wandered into my kitchen and poured myself a mug of herbal tea, the effects of the alcohol had well and truly worn off. However, I was not as tired as I'd expected to feel. In fact, quite the reverse, I was wide awake. I felt energized, I was on a strange kind of high, the like of which I'd never known.

Never in my wildest dreams had I expected to actually enjoy selling my body. Never had I imagined that a man who pays women for sex, could be a more tender, considerate and affectionate lover than my own husband. David was possibly better in bed than Paul had ever been; sex with him had definitely been better than the last few years with Paul.

More importantly, I told myself, I had a little over two thousand dollars in my purse. I'd need much more to be completely free of Paul, but it was a great start.

The positive experience with David had renewed my enthusiasm for the idea. Not all clients would be like him, that was obvious. But I'd learned something important about myself; I could do it. I could have sex with a stranger, sex with no real attachment. If I'd done it once, I could do it again. And, there was a chance that there were more David's out there; more men who wanted an uncomplicated evening, but who still treated women with respect. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more it occurred to me that men who use escorts do view women with respect. It's men who pick up any girl in a bar, tell her what she wants to hear, then disappears in the morning and spends the next month dodging her calls, who have little or no respect for women.

An escort's clients are, at least, honest; they're frank about what they want and they're willing to pay a fair price for a girl's time. The more I thought about it, the more I realized it wasn't anything like as sleazy and degrading as I'd first assumed. Perhaps I was just trying to make myself feel better, because I was now one of those women I'd considered degraded, but I truly believe that my eyes had been opened that night.

And that wasn't the only thing.

Sex had never been a particular preoccupation of mine. During the first stages of our adult relationship, Paul and I had sex quite frequently and I enjoyed it. I especially liked the fact that it seemed to make him so happy. However, I didn't 'get it'. I could not understand why women craved sex, why they would put themselves in dangerous situations to seek it out. It was fine; it was nice, but it wasn't the earthshaking experience so many people seemed to think.

In the most unexpected of places, my earth had been shaken. I understood it now with a clarity I could never have believed. I had left David completely satisfied, relaxed and happier than I'd felt in months. But in the quiet of my kitchen, the desire was building already. Yes, I wanted the money, I wanted to secure a future for me and the children – those were my prime concerns.

But I'd be lying if I said the thrill of what I'd done hadn't sparked a sort of addiction. I wanted more sex, uncomplicated sex with no attachments; pure pleasure without hurting anyone else.

### To be continued...

### Thank you for reading!

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