“So who is the boss then?” Harper looked up from tidying the small collection of art supplies she’d been using during her first day teaching the Farpoint class, giving Annie Prince a frown. “I’ve heard the cowboys call Mrs. Sullivan ‘boss’, Hunter ‘boss’ and the brother who’s not here—what’s his name…Dylan—‘boss’. Which one is it?”
Annie laughed. “Don’t call them cowboys. They don’t like that.” She plucked a paintbrush from the long table the students had been sitting at during their craft time and fanned its bristles with her thumb. “Technically I guess it’s Hunter and Dylan.”
Harper still couldn’t believe she was in Annie Prince’s presence. Talking to her. The daughter of one of America’s richest men. While in Australia.
“But when it comes to the last word on Farpoint, no one, not even the brothers, are going to argue with Hazel.”
Harper narrowed her eyes, contemplated what Annie said and then scooped up the postcards and travel pamphlets of the U.S. she’d had the small group of children cutting from. “So Hazel tells Hunter and Dylan what to do and they do it? Is that how it works?”
“No. Hunter runs the business side of the station, the money side, the paperwork, and Dylan does the sweaty work. He’s in charge of the jackaroos, jillaroos and hired hands. Hazel lords over them as only a mother can. She knows they know how to run Farpoint, but she likes to keep them on their toes. And the hands call her ‘boss’ because she’s their bosses’ boss. Make sense?”
Harper chuckled. “I think so.”
Annie replaced the paintbrush and plucked a roll of tape from the table. “I have to say, it’s great to hear another American accent again. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss Monet until she left. How are you settling in? Is everyone being nice to you?”
“Everyone is amazing.” Harper dropped herself onto the chair opposite Annie. “And the children in the class are so cool. It still messes with my head I’m teaching in a classroom on a ranch.”
“Station,” Annie corrected.
“Station,” Harper echoed, smacking her palm to her forehead. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It took me a while to get used to it as well.” Annie turned the tape in her fingers. To Harper, she looked very content. Relaxed. Nothing like the tense woman who used to grace the pages of the celebrity gossip magazines. “The Sullivans are big on family,” she went on. “Farpoint Creek is the only station in Australia—whether cattle or sheep—to keep the practice of a resident teacher alive. Dylan says it’s because their great-grandfather didn’t like the idea of his twin daughters going to a boarding school in Sydney and being seduced away from Farpoint by big-city boys.”
At the word “seduced”, Harper’s belly fluttered. Since Keith Munroe had kissed her two days ago, she’d spent too many moments fantasizing about being seduced by the gay cowboy and his partner.
She’d also fantasized about seducing them.
In those fantasies, instead of wrapping the towel around her body after finding them in her bedroom, she’d dropped it to her feet, smoothed her hands over her hips and made some intelligent, innuendo-heavy comment that made them both fall instantly in lust with her. After Keith kissed her—something that, in real life, was only spurred by his competition with Marc—his hands roamed her body, his worship joined by that of Marc, whose lips journeyed her throat, her breasts.
Then both cowboys removed their clothes and made love to her over and over again, bringing her to orgasm time and again with their hands and mouths and tongues and—
“Harper?”
Harper started, jerking her stare to Annie’s face. “I’m…I’m sorry,” she stammered, her cheeks filling with heat. “I wigged out a little. I think I must still be jetlagged.”
“I understand. I was exhausted my first few days here. It takes the body clock a while to adjust.” Annie’s smile turned to a smirk. “Plus you spent most of yesterday being pursued by one very persistent stockman, yes?”
Harper resisted the urge to fidget on her small seat. Ronnie McNamara had collected her from the cottage for breakfast yesterday morning a little after sunrise. She’d still been in her PJs when he’d knocked on the door, a bunch of pretty blue daisy-like flowers in his hand. He’d waited outside while she’d dressed and then driven her to the main homestead, pointing things out as they went. Leaving her at the homestead front door, he’d promised to collect her again for lunch, asking if she’d fancy a picnic. Annie had saved her from answering, the American heiress telling Ronnie that Hazel had already planned lunch.
But Harper had to give it to the man; he was tenacious. Rather than be dissuaded, he’d suggested a picnic dinner instead. “Nothin’ like eating under the stars in the Outback,” he’d said, offering to come get her from the cottage. “I’ll teach you how to make a bush-oven damper if you like.”
The picnic under the stars never eventuated. Hazel spent the day showing Harper everything she could around Farpoint, regaling her with utterly delightful tall tales about life on the station. It wasn’t until Harper was halfway through the most delicious roast beef dinner she’d ever eaten, her mouth full of tender meat smothered in rich brown gravy, that it dawned on her she hadn’t seen Ronnie.
With a guilty start, she’d mentioned it to those at the table. Annie had winked at Hunter, who’d scowled at his mother when Hazel proclaimed, “As if I’m going to let Ronald McNamara poison you with that gutrot he calls damper. Hell’s bells and buckets of blood, not even Dylan’s dog will eat it!”
Still, Ronnie had been waiting for Harper when dinner finished, removing his hat and smiling at her when she and Hazel exited the homestead. “I’ll take her back to Miss Wesson’s place, Mrs. Sullivan,” he’d said to Hazel. “I’ve got to check the fence line along the Kangaroo Creek track anyways.”
“How’s the cow you rescued from the billabong?” Hazel had asked, and Harper had been intrigued to see his face turn flame-red.
“It’s aw’right,” Ronnie had answered.
Hazel had narrowed her eyes. “How ’bout you go check on it? Just to be sure. I’ll drive Harper home.”
With a muttered, “Yes, ma’am,” the cowboy had climbed back into the same pickup in which he’d collected Harper from the airport and driven into the night.
“Those boys don’t know what they’ve done,” Hazel had muttered with a shake of her head before turning back to Harper. Harper wanted to ask which boys. For some reason, her pulse had started racing.
For some reason? Harper fidgeted a little on her seat. Huh, maybe it’s because the last two nights you couldn’t stop thinking about Keith Munroe and Marc Thompson.
“And,” Annie said, the word laced with good-natured humor, “he drove you here this morning, correct?”
Harper fiddled with the pile of postcards and pamphlets on her lap. “Yes, he did.” She didn’t add how disappointed she’d been to open the door and see Ronnie when she’d been hoping to find Keith and Marc. Annie didn’t need to know she was harboring pornographic fantasies about the two cowboys.
It also didn’t help she hadn’t seen either of them at all yesterday. It was as if, after the kiss from Keith, they’d run from her. Hell, they’d damn near sprinted from the cottage after it happened, Marc with a speculative look on his face and Keith with a hasty apology.
Maybe the kiss unsettled him? Maybe it really did make him wonder what it would be like to make love to a woman instead of—
“And I’ve lost you again, haven’t I?”
Harper blinked at Annie’s question. “I’m sorry. Truly.”
The heiress tilted her head. “Anything you want to talk about? I know how jarring it can be, being alone in a strange place.”
Harper shook her head. “Just feeling a tad out of sync. Does that make sense?”
“Absolutely. You’re in a different country, away from your family and friends, where the people seem to speak a different language despite the fact they’re speaking English. You’re allowed to feel out of sync. Have you spoken to anyone back home since getting here? That would help, I’m sure.”
Harper fought the guilty blush heating her cheeks again. “My brother doesn’t know I’m here. He’s what you’d call a bit overprotective.” Ha, that’s an understatement. “If I called him, he’d be on the first plane over here to drag my ass back…why are you laughing?”
Annie dropped her hand from her lips, her grin wide. “I’ll tell you one day. Promise. Suffice to say, your secret is safe with me. Does Amy know you’re here on a secret mission?”
“Hee! Secret mission, I like that. And yes, she does. I spoke to her last night and she promised she wouldn’t tell Andrew where I was.”
The eleven p.m. conversation had been an odd one. She was sure Amy wanted to tell her something important but hadn’t. And Harper had almost asked if Keith and Marc were gay, but she didn’t want to give away her lustful interest…in both of them. At the last moment, she’d bitten her tongue. Amy knew about Harper’s ménage fantasy, but surely she’d never expect her to fall for her best friends. How awkward would that confession be?
And by the way, Amy, I want to experience the ultimate female fantasy and bang both your sexy mates.
Too embarrassing to say out loud, even if it was true. Besides, Harper knew there was a lot more driving her desires than just sex.
I want to prove to Andrew I’m capable of looking after myself, even if having a threesome he’ll never, ever know about isn’t the way to do it. Just like taking off to Australia without his knowledge is teaching him a lesson?
Too close to the bone and probably too petulant was the real truth. The one she'd never speak aloud.
Because thanks to my fucking stepfather, I can’t trust anyone and I feel like I’m dying inside from not living my—
“Good for Amy.” Annie’s laugh cut the bleak thought short, a fact Harper was more than grateful for. Thoughts of her perverted stepfather only made her sick. “She’s a bit of a wild one but so much fun. I fear this trip may mean we lose her here at Farpoint, especially if she meets an equally adventurous American guy. I suspect Hazel thinks the same thing.”
“She loves it here,” Harper said. “I can’t imagine her anywhere else. She’s so vivacious. So…so…”
“Australian?” she offered. “I know the kids love her. She’s an amazing educator. She also keeps Blue and Thomo in line…most of the time. God knows what they’ll get up to while she’s away.” A curious frown pulled at Annie’s eyebrows. “Have you met Blue and Thomo yet? Keith Munroe and Marc Thompson?”
A vise wrapped around Harper’s chest. She stared at Annie, her lips tingling. “I have,” she answered, modulating her voice. She didn’t want Annie to know that at just the mention of their names her head exploded with debauched fantasies. “On Saturday. They seem friendly.”
“We are friendly.”
Harper jumped at Marc Thompson’s deep voice, the pile of collage fodder on her lap sliding to her feet. She heard his chuckle. Heard Annie’s answering one. But for the life of her, she couldn’t look at him. Not yet. Not until she got the flame in her cheeks under control.
The sound of the floorboards creaking told her Marc had entered her small classroom. “G’day, Ms. Prince. How’s the book going?”
“The book is going well, thank you. Revised Chapter 4 last night.” Annie’s answer was directed above Harper’s head. Which meant Marc was standing directly behind her.
Her heart beat harder and faster, hammering against the vise trying to compress her chest. Oh God.
“Still reckon you should dedicate it to me and Blue. We were the ones who told you to write it.”
Annie’s eyes twinkled. “If I recall correctly, Thomo, you told me to write ‘a book like that fifty shades of sex thing’, not a recount of growing up famous. And Blue told you to shut up and get back to work.”
The chuckle behind Harper was relaxed. Devilish. It made her pussy contract. “It was worth a shot. I’d read it.”
“Yes.” Annie’s smile turned into a smirk. “I bet you would. Now do you mind telling us why you’re here? Can’t we American women take a break for a while from all the Aussie testosterone?”
Marc laughed again. “Nope. ’Fraid not.”
Annie cocked an eyebrow.
“Actually, you can have a break if you like, Ms. Prince.” Marc’s voice stroked over Harper’s fraying composure. “It’s Harper I’m here to collect.”
Annie looked at Harper, her expression naughty. “Really now? And what do you plan on doing to Harper once you collect her?”
“Ah, you know us testosterone-filled Aussie blokes when it comes to American women. Take her somewhere private and—”
“Enough, Thomo.” Annie held up a hand, shaking her head. “Just tell me, okay?”
“Swimming,” he answered. “In the eastern billabong.”
Harper’s heart leaped up into her throat. Swimming. She hadn’t packed a bathing suit. Oh God, why hadn’t she packed a bathing suit?
“That sounds like a fantastic idea,” Annie said. “And it’s my cue to get back to writing. Chapter 4 isn’t going to revise itself, you know.”
And before Harper could say a word, the other woman rose and walked past her, out the door. Leaving her alone with Marc.
“So?” His deep voice seemed to envelop her. “You keen for a dip?”
Stealing herself against the inevitable tummy clenching that came at the sight of him, she twisted in her seat.
The tummy clenching came. As she knew it would. How could it not, when he looked so goddamn sexy? His hat was still on his head, its brim throwing a shadow over his brilliant sapphire eyes. His hands were on his hips, accentuating the broad expanse of his chest and the lean tapering of his torso. He was, simply put, sex in denim.
And waiting for her to say something.
“Err…” Her brain went blank. What had he asked?
“Swim?” Marc prompted. “In the billabong? With Blue and I?”
“I don’t have a bathing suit,” she answered, her cheeks heating again. God, since when did she sound so pathetic and lame?
Marc’s white teeth flashed. “And you think Blue and I do?”
Harper’s belly didn’t just flip-flop. It flip-flopped, sank, knotted and fluttered.
Skinny-dipping? With Keith and Marc? Oh boy, they may be gay and not interested in her sexually, but how was she to keep the abject lust out of her eyes when she stared at them naked? Which she would. A lot.
“C’mon,” he gave her shoulder a gentle nudge with the back of his hand, “it’ll be fun. Promise.”
Harper gazed up at him, her pulse doing an insane rendition of the Riverdance in her throat.
Do it. You wouldn’t do it at home, which means you have to do it here.
“You can wear your undies if you want,” Marc went on, the tone of his voice cajoling. Playful. “And if it helps, we promise we won’t look. Much.”
Before any rationality could stop her, Harper nodded. Goddamn it, she’d come to Australia to have an adventure. To prove to her brother—and herself—she was a woman capable of making her own decisions. Of living with those decision. Swimming naked with two gay Aussie cowboys was the perfect way to do that. Right?
“Bewdy,” Marc said. Harper assumed it was an approval of her acceptance. “Now, next question, do you want to go in the ute or on horse?”
Harper blinked. “I’ve never ridden a horse in my life.”
Marc’s laugh was relaxed. “Yeah, we figured as much. Blue’s waiting in the ute outside. Ready?”
He didn’t let her ponder an answer. He reached down, threaded his fingers through hers and tugged her to her feet.
Harper’s heart smashed into overdrive. “But…but I-I have to lock up,” she blurted, tripping over her feet as he began to pull her toward the open door, through which she could see a dust-covered white Australian version of a pickup.
“Nah you don’t.” Marc tossed a smirk over his shoulder. “No one’s gonna steal anything. Trust me.”
And then they were outside, the warm breeze blowing over Harper’s arms and face feeling nothing like autumn.
“Up you go,” Marc said when they reached the side of the pickup.
Harper looked at him. “Up I go where?”
He nodded toward the empty pickup bed. “In the back.”
“I—”
He moved before she knew what he was doing, placing one open hand on her butt, the other around her upper arm. “In we go.”
Harper let out a yelp at his unexpected shove on her ass and her unexpected momentum upward. Her brain—stunned senseless for a split second—scrambled into gear and, with a laugh she also hadn’t expected, she tumbled into the back of the pickup.
“All right, Blue,” Marc called as he lobbed himself into the truck bed beside Harper. “Let’s go.”
The engine started with a deafening growl and as the pickup shot forward, propelling Harper backward onto her ass, squeals of delight burst past her lips.
Watch out, living. Here I come.
Keith shot his rearview mirror a quick look, his chest tight. Harper clung to the side of the ute’s tray, her smile stunning, her hair whipping about her head like strands of spun gold.
Fuck, she was beautiful.
Gone was the polished, all-in-black city woman he’d first laid eyes on two days ago. Today she was dressed in faded jeans and a loose white shirt left unbuttoned over a pale-pink tank. The outfit was simple and pretty—and made the way his body was responding all the more confusing.
He’d understood the purely sexual reaction when she’d first arrived on Farpoint. Hell, how could a bloke with a working dick not be turned-on by the way she’d looked on Saturday? He’d understood the undeniable lust surging through him when he and Thomo found her naked in her bedroom. He’d never been immune to a naked woman, especially one who looked as though she should grace the cover of Sports Illustrated in a bikini.
But the Harper in the back now, the one who looked sweet and innocent and very feminine…
Christ, his dick was so damn hard it was a wonder there was any blood left in his brain to drive.
When was the last time he’d been turned on by a sweet, innocent anything?
He flicked a look at Marc, who sat beside the American. The wind tugged at his shirt, giving Keith flashes of the tattoo on Marc’s chest. He’d been with the stupid bastard when Marc had gotten the tat. Paid for it, in fact, when Marc realized he’d left his wallet back at Cobar’s main pub.
It seemed Thomo was just as taken by Harper Shaw as Keith was.
The idea made his already throbbing cock throb harder.
He didn’t allow himself to think too much about that. In fact, he’d refused to think about Harper and her effect on his body since he’d kissed her.
Okay, that was bullshit. He’d jerked off the last couple nights to the thought of that kiss, keeping his actions clandestine. Thomo slept in the room next to his. The walls of the hired hands’ houses weren’t exactly soundproof and Keith didn’t want his mate, or the two new young jackaroos in the room on his other side, to hear him.
He didn’t consider himself the kind of man who took pleasure in the body of a woman he’d barely met. That wasn’t the kind of man his parents had raised him to be. His dad—Cobar’s police sergeant—saw firsthand how poorly a lot of women in the Outback were treated and certainly expected better of his son.
Life in the Outback wasn’t easy for anyone. It turned boys to men quickly. It turned men hard equally fast. Could turn them into bastards if they weren’t careful. Keith knew that all too well. He’d watched his uncle, Farpoint’s one-time horse-breaker, become bitter and violent and contemptuous. Had bore witness when his father had come to Farpoint thirteen years ago and arrested his own kid brother, Keith’s uncle, for domestic violence.
His dad had hated to do it, hated even more that Keith—who lived on the station with his mother, the station’s resident cook—had seen it all. The violence, the rage, the impotent self-hate.
For Keith, a young boy of fifteen, it had been a brutal lesson.
Nothing sweet or innocent belonged in the Outback.
And yet, here was Harper Shaw, looking sweet and pretty and innocent and so bloody feminine he could barely breathe.
No wonder he was messed up.
He looked at Marc in the rearview mirror again, the young man’s cheeky grin sending a tight, indefinable shard through Keith’s chest.
Marc was his best mate. They did everything together.
As if aware of his gaze, Marc swung his attention to the ute’s rearview mirror, his stare connecting with Keith’s in the glass.
Hurry up, Marc mouthed before turning back to Harper.
Gritting his teeth, ignoring the pulse of straining pressure in his groin, Keith pressed his foot harder to the accelerator. The main billabong on Farpoint Creek Station was five kilometers up the road. The sooner he got into the cool water, the better.
Of course, that would be tricky while he was sporting a bloody inconvenient hard-on. He didn’t want to scare Harper. Stripping off and plunging into the water had seemed like a good idea when Marc suggested it an hour ago. “Let’s take Harper for a swim. Show her what life on Farpoint is like. She spent all day Sunday with the boss and all day today teaching. Bet she’s keen to blow off some steam.”
Neither Keith nor Marc addressed Big Mac’s claims the American woman was gay, and when Keith had tried to call Amy in Chicago yesterday to ask, she hadn’t answered. Didn’t surprise Keith in the slightest. It had been one a.m. where she was. She was either sound asleep or partying hard.
So here they were, with a woman who may or may not be gay, about to swim buck-naked together.
Brilliant. Bloody brilliant. How the fuck did he let Marc talk him into stuff like this?
Because he makes your life fun, dickhead. That’s why.
Chuckling to himself, his pulse pounding far too fast in his ears, his dick far too hard for his jeans, he directed the ute under the old ghost gum tree growing beside the billabong, applied the brakes and killed the engine.
“Here we are,” he heard Marc say a second before the ute dipped a fraction to the side and Marc jumped out of the tray.
He opened his door, watching Marc run toward the large body of still water, stripping as he went.
“Oh God, he’s…”
Keith leaned out of the driver’s seat and looked toward Harper. However she would have finished her exclamation, it never made it past her lips. She stood frozen in the ute’s tray, her stare locked on Marc’s naked backside.
The splash of Marc diving into the water, followed by his shouted “Holy fuck that’s cold!” jerked her from her stunned state.
She burst out laughing. “And you want me to swim in that?” She glanced at Keith, her eyes sparkling, her hair a wild tumble of golden-blonde waves around her face and shoulders. “Is he serious?”
Christ, she’s gorgeous.
The thought stole Keith’s reply. Thankfully, Harper returned her attention to Marc before his silence became obvious.
“Get your arse in here, Ms. Shaw,” Marc called.
Keith turned his gaze on his best mate, finding him standing waist-deep in the water, his upper body glistening in the sun’s rays. The tattoo on his chest—a red-back spider building its web in between the stars of the Southern Cross—seemed to ripple over his flesh.
As always, the sight of the ink made him remember the night Marc had gotten it. The night Marc had celebrated his eighteenth birthday in Cobar. The night Marc’s dad had been killed by a bike-gang member a mere block away from the tattoo parlor in which Marc and Keith sat, waiting for Marc’s turn to go.
The night Keith promised the devastated young man he’d always be there for him, that he was his mate, that he’d never let him down. And he’d proven it by getting a tattoo on his own chest—a red-back spider perched above his heart.
“You too, Blue.” Marc grinned at him from the billabong. “Before my dick shrivels up to nothing and you embarrass me with that—”
“Shut the fuck up, Thomo,” Keith called. He turned back to her. “I’m going in. I apologize in advance for the view.”
She frowned at him. “The view?”
For an answer, Keith stood, shucked off his boots, removed his hat, yanked his shirt over his head and, with a quick breath, unzipped his fly and slid his jeans down his legs.
He heard Harper’s gasp. Heard Marc’s laugh.
He felt the warm autumn air wrap around his suddenly exposed erection. And then he was ignoring it all, running toward the billabong, his attention set on nothing but the water and its depths. He dove in, piercing the surface with his hands. His dick strained against the cool water, dragging like a bloody anchor as he plunged toward the billabong’s silted bottom.
The dull splash behind him indicated someone had broken the water’s surface in another dive. Lungs burning, he touched the bottom of the billabong, let out a short stream of breath then planted his feet on the silt and propelled himself upward.
Upward.
Upward.
Marc was laughing when he broke the surface. As was Harper. Treading water, Keith turned, finding them both a few feet away. If Harper was naked, Keith couldn’t tell. The only thing above the water was her head, her wet hair clinging to the shape of her skull before floating on the surface behind her like a golden fan.
“It’s freezing!” The smile in her eyes belied her complaint.
Keith chuckled. “It’s not exactly warm.”
“Quit your bellyaching, you two.” Marc splashed water at Keith. “And live in the moment.”
Harper splashed him back, the move disturbing the water enough for Keith to notice a hint of dusky shadow where her nipples would be.
His groin tightened, the cold water having fuck-all effect on his hard-on. Jesus, what the fuck was he doing? What would he say when—
Water splattered against his face. He threw a warning glare at Harper, his pulse quick. “Oh, you wanna start a war, do you? Think a lone American woman can defeat two Aussie blokes?”
She splashed him again. “Bring it on, Kangaroo Jack.”
“Right, that’s it.” Keith threw a look at Marc. “Ready, Thomo?”
Marc nodded. “Ready, Blue.”
Keith lunged for Harper. As did Marc. At the exact second Harper disappeared under the water with a squeal.
The water fight lasted a good fifteen minutes. By the time it was finished, Keith had not only seen Harper’s exquisite breasts more than once, he’d felt them squashed against his back as she’d tried to dunk him under water. If it wasn’t for Marc “saving” him by snaring her around the waist and hauling her off his back, Keith would have gladly gone under, just to experience the sensation of them brushing the back of his head.
It was a giddy moment. A wonderful moment.
He’d never had so much fun with a naked woman, let alone one he barely knew. And despite the furious water fight, he was still as erect as ever.
Was Marc in the same state?
And if so, what did they do about it?
“Time out!” Harper called, the words almost lost in her laugh. “Time out.”
Keith shot Marc a look as she ducked under the water.
His best mate looked back at him, his expression unreadable.
“Okay,” Harper resurfaced, smoothing her wet hair down the back of her head and neck, “I call uncle. You win.”
Marc chuckled. “Ah, the Australian brilliance is too much for the Yank. Onya, Blue. We win.”
Harper bobbed in the water, the tops of her shoulders peaking above the surface. “Why Blue? Is it your eyes?”
Marc directed a splash at Keith’s head. “It’s his hair.”
Keith tried not to laugh at Harper’s puzzled frown. “But his hair is a reddish-blond,” she pointed out.
“Yep.” Marc dropped her a wink and began swimming toward the far bank. “That’s why we call him Blue.”
Harper turned her frown on Keith. “I don’t get it.”
Keith shrugged, the feel of the water on his balls and cock more than a tad distracting. Or maybe it was the way drops of water clung to Harper’s eyelashes. Or the way she was slowly swimming closer to him, so close the ripples she made from each gentle dog-paddle stroke lapped against his chest. “It’s an Australian thing.”
She looked at him for a long moment, an ambiguous expression clouding her eyes. And then she said, “Is kissing an American woman until she almost passes out an Australian thing?”
He nodded, fighting to keep his own expression composed. “It is.”
She caught her bottom lip with her teeth, dipping down into the water enough to cover her chin as she did so. “Can I confess something?”
Keith nodded again. His chest was tight. His heart beating fast.
The sounds of Marc’s strokes seemed distant. Another world away.
Harper’s lips curved. “I didn’t think I would get so turned-on being kissed by a gay cowboy.”
“A what?” Marc’s shout punched the tranquility of the billabong.
Keith blinked. “A what?”
Harper stared back, her eyes wide. “A gay cowboy. Oh God, I mean a gay stockman. I’m sorry.”
Keith’s breath caught in his throat. “Who said I was gay?”
This time, Harper blinked. “Ronnie McNamara. On the drive from the airport. He said you two have a contest to see who kisses the female visitors first and that you’re gay lovers. And Amy always talks about how close you two—”
“Fucking Big Mac!” Marc’s shout made Harper flinch. Keith wasn’t surprised. The tone of his best mate’s voice was scary. He flung the jackaroo a quick look, watching him swim toward them both, strokes fast and powerful before he disappeared beneath the water.
“Don’t worry,” Harper said, her voice flustered, her eyes wider by the second. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise. Your secret’s safe with—”
“We’re not gay, Harper,” Keith interrupted, keeping his own voice calm.
The water suddenly stirred beside Harper, Marc surfacing from beneath to tower over her. “Does this feel like we’re gay?” he asked, a heartbeat before he lowered his head and captured her lips.