Rome roars with laughter for a few seconds.
“You’re a hoot, Oz. But hell, that’s a lot of people to cook for, all the time,” he says, digging his thumbs into the ball of my foot in the very best of ways.
“You’re not wrong. But that was just how it was. We had to make do. So if I was the cook, then in between, I would go out into the paddocks and check fences, or check watering stations—whatever I could fit in.
“If the men were around the homestead, I’d cook lunch for them all. The property was so vast, at times they’d head out for a week or more at a time and they wouldn’t leave our property. If Phil and the men were moving cattle or out fencing or something like that, they often camped out in swags to save the drive back to the main homestead each day. They’d take a truck out loaded with horses and a few four-wheel drive vehicles and just do whatever they needed to do.”
I pause to take a sip of my beer. “Am I boring you? It feels like I have verbal diarrhea.”
He shakes his head no and grins with a chuckle. “Quite the opposite. I love hearing about how other people live.”
“As long as you’re sure.”
“Please, go on. I mean it.” And I can see he does. His dark, chocolate-colored eyes are sincere.
“Where was I? It’s kind of hard to concentrate when you’re doing that and I’m drinking these.” I tip my beer to him in salute.
“You were telling me about the camp.”
“Oh yeah. If they went out on a camp, I’d stay at the house. Phillip didn’t like the idea of me camping out with the men, even if he was there. So, I’d just go out to their camp every couple of days with more supplies. Most nights, I’d do the books or read. For a long time, I used to study at night, while I was getting my business degree remotely.”
“It must have been hard, studying remotely.” His eyes roved between his hands on my foot and my face. I’m not sure what was more mesmerizing—the feel of his hands or the feel of his eyes on me.
“It wasn’t easy, but I took my time and it gave me something to do. I always wanted to go to university, but my life didn’t quite follow the normal path.” He’s moved onto my other foot, and my eyelids are starting to droop.
Because he seems totally absorbed by my every word, I go on. “Don’t be mistaken into thinking it is some sort of romantic lifestyle of getting away from it all or something like that. It’s mentally and physically draining. There’s nothing more harrowing than having to destroy half your herd to keep them from starving to death or dying of thirst. Raising cattle in essentially a desert is an unforgiving lifestyle and one I wouldn’t recommend unless you crave constant hard work and mental torture. You’re at the mercy of Mother Nature and she’s a callous bitch more often than not.”
Rome’s eyebrows rise in surprise at my harsh words and tone but he chooses to say nothing. I can’t help what I believe and know to be true anymore than I can keep the bitterness from my tone. I lived it first-hand.
“You can’t possibly understand unless you’ve experienced it first-hand. It’s all that and then some. It’s a hard, tough life and quite a simple existence. No restaurants, fancy clothes, beauty salons or anything like that. And for crying out loud don’t have an accident or get really sick. The flying doctors could be hours away.”
The mention of the flying doctors has Rome jolting to attention. “How does that work?”
“Because of the remote nature of where the station was, if we had a medical emergency we couldn’t deal with, we’d call up on the UHF radio or the satellite phone and they’d send a plane with a medical crew. We had a landing strip. Like most large stations.”
“Wow!” He looks stunned.
“Don’t feel bad, I don’t expect you to understand. No one truly does unless you’ve personally lived the life. Most outsiders don’t last. It just sucks the life out of them. Hell, I didn’t last, and I was born out there.”
We talk for another twenty minutes about living out on the land. I keep it factual and try to be entertaining. Rome doesn’t need to know that by the time my husband passed, I was at my wits end with living out there.
“So tell me about where you live now?”
I feel my back stiffen automatically and a wave of guilt hits me hard in the stomach. As much as I tell myself I did the right thing and logically know it, I still feel an overwhelming sense of guilt.
“I sold Colanara soon after Phillip passed and moved to the coast. I needed a change, and I didn’t fancy running the property by myself. I live in a high-rise apartment right on the beach, down the southern end of the Gold Coast, which is south of Brisbane. Totally different to an outback cattle station.” What I tell him is the truth, I’m just choosing to leave out the bits I don’t want to talk about. The bits that still give me cause to question, doubt and beat myself up every single day about my decision to sell and subsequently move.
Between having a full belly, downing my second beer, and experiencing the most delectable foot massage, I’m about to succumb to sleep. As much as I fight it, I can’t suppress a yawn, and with each second, my eyelids feel more and more leaden.
“I should let you go to bed, but I want to hear more. I’ve really enjoyed our chat.” He runs his hand up my calf as he says it and a lovely warmth spread upwards. His voice is low and seductive. If I wasn’t so tired…I’d be either way more alarmed at the attraction I feel toward him, or I’d already be in his arms.
“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”
He takes my hands in his and pulls me forward until our lips meet. It’s a soft but lingering kiss. A warm brush of lips, a long promise of understanding. It also awakens feelings in me that died long before my husband passed. Feelings I didn’t really expect to ever experience again toward a man—excitement, interest, attraction…need.
Rome pulls back a little. “Go to bed, Oz.”
Reluctantly, I slide my hands from his and stand.
“I might watch a little TV for a while before I turn it. It’s a bit early for me yet, if that won’t disturb you?”
“That’s fine. I’m a sound sleeper but thanks for asking. I appreciate your consideration. It’s really nice of you to think about what I might need.”
Rome nods once, and there’s a knowing look in his eyes, as if he just read deep into my soul. “I want you to be comfortable and if the TV is a problem, I can always read a book. Either is fine with me. But while we’re talking about consideration, are you okay with me sharing your bed or would you prefer I sleep on the pullout? I promise you can trust me, nothing will happen that you don’t want.”
My head is screaming I should relegate him to the couch. What do I know about this man? My gut is quiet and fully onboard with the idea. He asked me to trust him, and I realize I do. Not once since I met him this afternoon, have I felt the least bit uncomfortable with him. In fact, the exact opposite.
I’m far too tired to think on this anymore—decision made.
“I’m going to trust you.”
Chapter 4
Carlene
I wake with a start. Where am I? I can hear the ocean, but the faint light coming into the room is all wrong, and I’m hot. My heart is thumping in my ears, and I can feel my neck pulsing.
Then I realize why.
I’m not in bed alone.
For a moment, my mind retracts eighteen months, and I nearly nudge back with my elbow at Phil, to get him to release me. He would always make me so hot in the summer months, but boy, was he useful as a personal heater in the colder winter months out west. Only it isn’t Phil, and it isn’t eighteen months ago.
My groggy mind pieces it all back together.
I have no idea what day it is, with the crazy time change, but I guess it’s still in the middle of the night.
I’m in the USA, and I’m in bed with a stranger. An escort, at that.
Stupid thing is, he doesn’t feel like a stranger. In fact, I swear it feels as if I’ve known him for years. He’s been just like his company ha
d promised, “the perfect gentleman.”
He’s taken care of everything. I haven’t had to think or worry about one little detail.
Last night, he put me to bed, and it seemed like the most normal thing in the world for him to lay there with me as I drifted off to sleep. Was that weird? Should I have felt uneasy, because I didn’t. I felt relaxed, safe, and excited, all at once. I would never have thought I could bond with anyone so quickly, let alone a man I had never met before earlier in the afternoon.
Now, my bladder is screaming, and I’m wide awake. Besides, I have no idea what time it is. As carefully as I can, I slip from underneath his arm.
“Are you okay, Oz?” His voice is a little raspy from sleep.
“Um, just need to use the bathroom.”
I shift from the bed and take care of nature’s needs. All the while, the crazy thing running around in my head is he knew exactly who I am. He hadn’t called me a generic name like babe or sweetheart just before, which surely is the safe route for a man like him. Rome used the nickname he’d given me.
I take the time to clean my teeth, not knowing what will happen next and being surprisingly okay with it—sort of.
This is my two-week adventure, and I can be whoever and whatever I want to be. I don’t have any commitments or responsibilities to anyone but me. Nobody knows me or has any expectations. Both a liberating feeling and quite odd.
Never do I remember feeling like this.
It’s exciting and scary at the same time.
Rome throws the bed covers back as I exit the bathroom door, inviting me to rejoin him. He’s turned the lamp on, and he looks glorious and rumpled lying there sleepy in the shadows. Some sort of mythical God, resting amongst the sheets of my bed.
With as much grace as I can muster, I slip back into bed. My comfy cotton singlet and shorts are the only barrier between me and Rome’s naked muscled chest.
As if it’s the most normal thing to do, he pulls me to him for a moment in a cuddle, then drops a kiss to a spot just below my ear, and I shiver from the tingles it sends through me.
“Excuse me for just a moment, possum. I’ll be right back.” He rises from the bed, and I enjoy the show as he makes his way to the bathroom in nothing but boxer shorts. The man is built, everywhere.
Possum, hmmm. I’m going to have a devil of a time remembering what I’m supposed to answer to at this rate. I glance at my phone; it’s just after four am here. Way too early to be up and about.
Chels has sent me a couple of texts wanting to know how everything is going. How is everything going? What do I say? I’m thinking through an answer to her when I hear him opening the bathroom door.
Without thought, I discard the phone, leap from the bed, and flee out onto the balcony, suddenly terrified to be in the bed with him. Not terrified, terrified but terrified about how much I’m wanting to be there.
Is it wrong to want to be there, to feel something again? Am I being unfaithful to Phil’s memory?
I let my guard down last night. It must have been the jetlag, and the beer. Most likely also Rome’s amazing hands on my feet and legs. I’ve never felt so spoiled.
Today, it all seems like a dream. Had that really been me? Talking to him like an old friend last night, sitting with my feet in his lap, while he rubbed away all the tension I was feeling?
The early morning is crisp, very crisp I discover, when I only have on the lightest of clothes.
I feel him behind me more than hear him.
The sound of the ocean rolling in from across the road is reassuring. It’s been my constant companion for the last eighteen months in my new apartment on the coast. The sound of the waves is soothing and familiar.
I’m enjoying the ocean from the opposite direction today, but it’s still my friend, whatever angle I look at it from. I need that right now. I need to feel the stability of the normalcy, when my thoughts and emotions are so upside down.
Rome wraps a blanket around my shoulders, and immediately, I’m engulfed not only in warmth but also in caring. I’ve had damned little of that in my life, particularly of late. Which only makes every emotion I’m feeling seem amplified to the extreme. I can’t recall Phil doing anything so thoughtful, and it’s like a knife strike to my heart.
“Everything okay?” he asks, moving in behind me and wrapping his arms loosely around my waist to add more heat and comfort.
My body immediately relaxes back against him even though my mind continues to war.
“Just felt like some air,” I finally manage, trying to cover my very hasty exit to the balcony and all over the place emotions.
“I love listening to the ocean.” I appreciate that he doesn’t push me about my embarrassing flight from the bed.
“Me too. I was just thinking how the sound of the ocean has become very familiar to me over the last year or so.”
“That must be nice. Soothing and comforting?”
I turn slightly so I can see his face. He’s looking out to sea, over my shoulder.
“Yes, exactly,” I agree, surprised once again, he seems to know precisely what I’m thinking.
He doesn’t say any more for a few moments. We both stand there taking it all in—together with his body wrapped around mine.
“What do you usually do in the mornings at home?” Rome eventually asks.
“Normally, I get up and take a walk along the beach, maybe stop at a café for a coffee. Go to the gym. That’s about it. I don’t do much with myself these days.” The last bit I added without thinking and immediately wish I hadn’t. It’s embarrassing how idle I’ve been since I left the property.
“Want to take a walk down on the beach now?”
It’s an easy question to answer. “Sure.”
He steps back and lets me go. “In that case, Oz, you’d better get dressed. Although, in case I haven’t mentioned it, I think you look damned cute in your pjs.”
A hot blush races to my cheeks and the best I can come up with is, “give me five minutes.”
As I turn to head in, he gives me a light swat on the backside. I spin around and look at him with surprise.
Rome responds with a cheeky grin. “Couldn’t resist.” He shrugs easily.
It’s light-hearted and fun. My face heats even further, and I feel a little giddy with excitement. Light, free, and devoid of tension.
All new feelings for me.
Rome
So far, so good. I survived night one. And it was surprisingly easy to boot. Is it because I’ve taken a break, or because Carlene is just an easy person to be around? A non-diva, how refreshing. God knows, I’ve dealt with my share over the years. Which makes me appreciate sane and balanced so much more.
We head across the road from the hotel and down onto the beach. She slips off her flip-flops as soon as her feet touch the sand, and I reach for them. A strange look crosses her face, and I wiggle my fingers, urging her to pass them to me.
“It’s fine. I can carry my own thongs.”
I send a smirk her way. “Oz, you’re in America now. Here, you wear ‘a’ thong, and if we walk on the beach together, I carry your flip-flops.”
“Really! You call them flip-flops? Who would have thought? And I have no idea what you mean about the other thong.”
I almost trip. Stunned. What woman doesn’t know what a thong is?
Maybe she’s playing dumb with me?
“You really have no idea what a thong is?”
She shakes her head, and I see honesty as she walks beside me. “Nope.”
“In that case, then I guess it’s my duty to educate you on the finer points of women’s undergarments.”
That earns me a sideways look of surprise.
“A thong here is a very skimpy piece of satin, lace, or sometimes cotton that covers your pussy and delectably divides your ass cheeks. A personal favorite of mine.”
She lets out a low laugh. “Ah, a G-string. Why didn’t you just say so?”
“I thought I just did?”
/>
“Yeah, I guess you did. Can’t say it’s a piece of underwear I’m familiar with though.” There’s that genuine honesty again in her voice. This is a first for me. I haven’t come across a woman in this job who would admit to not being familiar with a thong. In most cases, they all want to appear worldly and very raunchy.
“You serious?”
“Absolutely…not a lot of use for G-strings on a cattle station, Rome. It’s all about practical out there.”
I’m getting that practical message loud and clear, but what about the balance here? The practical woman is interesting and very novel but I want to know her more. What about the woman she is at her basest level? She’s the one I’m in intrigued about.
Her phone beeps, and she pulls it out of her pocket and mutters a little.
“Everything all right?”
“Yes, just Chels checking up on me. I just told her to go to bed and stop worrying about me.”
I laugh. “Once a mother, always a mother, I guess.”
“Sorry, I’m being rude reading her text.” There’s a hint of defense in her tone.
“Please don’t apologize. That’s not what I meant. I get you’ll always be a mother, and I have absolutely no issue you talking to your kids anytime. They always will and should come first for you. It’s a quality I really love and admire. Unfortunately, not all women are as concerned about their kids as they should be.”
She places her hand naturally on my forearm. “Thanks for understanding. They worry about me and me about them. I just feel more relaxed knowing they’re okay and vice versa.”
I cover her hand on my arm briefly with mine. “No problem at all. Totally understandable and admirable. I think Anton may have mentioned you had kids. To be honest, I didn’t take much notice at the time. I was rushing to get ready to meet you. How old is your daughter?”
Carlene laughs and gives me a coy look, and as her hand slips naturally from my arm, I catch it with mine and link our fingers.
When With Rome (Perfect Gentlemen Book 1) Page 5
