Outback Sisters (21 page)

Only because she's the first woman you've had much to do with in a while
, he told himself. But that wasn't strictly true—there'd been one-night stands in his not too distant past and none of those girls had made him feel like Simone did.

She cocked her head and dropped her hands to one side, looking at him. ‘You're not very good at this, are you?'

He scowled, but she flashed her eyes at him, he couldn't help flirting right back. ‘You call that dancing?'

Her mouth opened and she perched her hands on her hips. ‘Are you insulting my dancing, Angus Knight?'

Fuck, no; he could watch her dance all bloody night. ‘It's not bad,' he conceded, ‘but not what I'm used to.'

‘Oh yeah? And what exactly are you used to?' she asked, grinning.

‘They made us learn ballroom dancing at boarding school. You know: the waltz, the tango, stuff like that?'

‘Wow, I'm impressed. I always wanted to learn proper dancing.'

‘I could teach you,' he offered, cursing the words the moment they were out of his mouth. Just the thought of holding her as close as was required for such an activity made his heart race. Not an appropriate response to your brother's girlfriend.

‘Would you?' Her words were barely a whisper and her eyes looked straight into his, making him giddy.

He swallowed. ‘We'd need different music.'

Her lower lip dropped in a pout but then right on cue the song on the television changed to a slow ballad, pretty much perfect for their requirements.
Well then …

Against his better judgement, Angus raised his hands, put one palm against Simone's hip and the other against her shoulder, pulling her close against him. She fit perfectly and she smelt angelic—some kind of floral perfume.

‘What now?' she asked, gazing up at him with her soulful green eyes. She had the longest eyelashes and almost invisible smile lines around her eyes. All he could think about was slipping his hand up into her luscious red curls, pulling her head towards him and doing what he'd imagined doing ever since he'd walked into his house and found her snooping in his bedroom.

* * *

‘Mmm … those smell amazing,' Logan said, his stomach growling as Frankie pulled another tray of cupcakes out of the oven, taking their total tally up to a hundred. That was the amount they'd calculated was necessary to make a fabulous cupcake tower, but the hard work—the decorating—was still to come.

Frankie looked at him, her expression like a stern schoolmistress. ‘Don't even think about it, mister. No, taste-testing until we're absolutely certain we've got all we need.'

‘Come on?' he pleaded. ‘What if we accidentally put salt in the mixture instead of sugar? Wouldn't it be better if we found out before it was too—'

‘Fine.' Rolling her eyes, she cut him off and plucked one piping hot cupcake out of the tray she'd just placed on the stovetop. ‘Knock yourself out. But if it tastes bad, I'm warning you, I'll cry.'

He took the offering, inhaling the delicious aroma of freshly baked chocolate as he peeled off the patty pan. It was so hot his fingers almost burned and he blew gently on the cake before taking a bite. The flavours simply melted on his tongue. Frankie was a baking genius.

‘Well?' she asked, her expression anxious as she waited for his verdict.

He made a show of finishing his mouthful, then glanced down at the rest of the cupcake in his hand and frowned. ‘They're not good,' he said, deadpan.

‘
What?
' Her hand flew to her chest and her eyes widened in horror.

He grinned. ‘They're fucking fantastic.' And then he shoved the rest into his mouth, wishing he could devour a few more.

Frankie let out a visible breath and her forehead relaxed as she lifted her hand and socked him hard on the arm. ‘You utter shit! I can't believe you did that.'

‘Ouch,' he yelped, laughing as he rubbed his arm.

‘You deserved that,' she said, her tone lighter now, and he had to concede he did. ‘If I didn't need you so much right now, you'd be a dead man.'

‘I'm sorry.' He stifled a laugh; the bruise on his arm was worth the expression on her face. It was getting late and his eyes were gritty from fatigue, but he couldn't deny the last few hours together had been fun.

Despite Frankie being a bit of a control freak in the kitchen, they worked well together, and he didn't mind being ordered around by someone as talented as her. As they baked, she'd taught him a few tricks of the trade and, in addition to cooking and reading, they'd found so many other mutual interests that the conversation never waned. Initially she'd been a bit jittery but he'd put that down to stress. They'd talked about everything from the mundane to the intense, from favourite movies to greatest fears and why they'd chosen their careers, and she'd soon relaxed. She'd listened and seemed to understand that although farming was in his blood, he'd hadn't wanted to follow in his father's and grandparents' footprints. It was something his dad and brother had never understood—although their farm couldn't sustain more than one full-time income, he'd always been made to feel guilty for bailing out.

And Frankie had inspired him with her passion and drive to start her own café. After she'd made the statement about always falling for Mr Wrong, he'd pushed her for more details—despite knowing he might be heading into murky waters. She'd confided how she'd fled a broken relationship in Perth, and he'd felt that anger once again towards her ex, even though he'd already heard part of the story from Simone. He hoped one day she'd discover that not all men were cheating scumbags.

After only a few hours of conversation, Logan felt as if he knew Frankie almost as well as, if not better than, he knew Simone.

‘Do you want a drink?' he asked, thinking that they both deserved a quick break. Although he'd made it sound like he didn't think creating a wedding cake overnight was an impossible feat, they weren't out of the woods yet. He had grave fears that they could very well miss their deadline. The cake might not be needed until the evening, but Frankie was expected to report for bridesmaid duties bright and early.

‘I'd love a coffee,' she said, surveying the mess in front of them. ‘And I suppose we should clean this lot up before we get on with the rest of the decorations. Do you think the chocolate will set in time?'

Once again panic crossed her face. ‘Of course.' He injected a confidence he didn't feel into his voice as he turned to fill up the kettle. ‘But worst-case scenario, the silver cachou and pre-made sugar rosettes will do the trick. I promise.'

‘I hope so.'

While he made their drinks, Frankie swiped the empty flour packets and egg cartons into the rubbish bin till it was near bursting.

‘Here, I'll take that out,' he said, stooping to collect it. ‘You sit down for a few minutes and drink your coffee.'

She sighed and glanced at her watch.

‘Two minutes is not going to ruin us,' he said, reading her thoughts. ‘You need to recharge.' And so did he.

Relenting, she picked up the steaming mug and perched herself on one of the stools at the breakfast bar while he trekked outside. It was darker than Logan expected and he couldn't find the porch light but he could just make out the rubbish bin in the corner of the yard. He deposited the trash and had almost made it back to the door when he tripped on a pot plant he hadn't seen.

‘Shit,' he hissed, as he stumbled to the ground. Instinctively his arms shot out to save him, but his leg hit something hard and sharp on the way down. Annoyed at himself and ignoring the pain that now throbbed just below his knee, he scrambled to his feet, dusted himself off and took a deep breath. He didn't want to have to explain to Frankie what had happened, so he summoned a smile and carefully made his way back inside.

‘This is the best. Coffee. Ever,' Frankie announced as he quietly shut the door behind him. She was still perched on the stool, her eyes closed and her fingers wrapped around the mug. His pain all but evaporated as she opened her eyes and hit him with a satisfied smile. If good coffee gave her that expression he could only imagine what good sex would do.

Where did that come from?
Cursing the thought the moment it entered his head, he smiled awkwardly and then picked up his own much-needed caffeine. ‘I've been meaning to ask you. Did you ever finish
Picnic at Hanging Rock
?' He wanted to distract himself with safe conversation.

She nodded. ‘Yep, but I wasn't too sure about the ending. It was weird.'

Mug in hand, he leaned back against the kitchen counter. ‘Did you read the chapter that was added after Joan Lindsay's death?'

‘I … think I did.'

‘That explains it.' He was about to tell her how Lindsay's editor had removed this chapter prior to original publication, and that it was only published posthumously, when Frankie shrieked.

‘Oh my God!' Her hand shot to cover her mouth and then she lowered her voice to speak again. ‘What have you done to your leg?'

Following her gaze, he looked down to see a dark red patch seeping through his jeans just below his knee. ‘I tripped when I went outside.' He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. ‘Must have knocked it when I fell.'

‘It must have been a pretty hard knock,' she said, placing her mug on the bench and sliding off the stool. ‘We should check that out. I wonder if there's a first-aid kit around here.'

Before he could tell her he'd be fine, she started opening and closing cupboards. ‘Bingo.' She tucked a small red box under her arm. ‘Go sit on one of the dining chairs and I'll take a look.'

Guessing she wouldn't let him ignore this, he did as he was told, sinking into a seat. Luckily these Levis were old and quite loose so he could roll up the cuff and reveal the cut without taking them off. The last thing he needed was to get naked in front of Frankie—they'd barely recovered from his ill-considered kiss.

‘Ouch,' she said as she dropped to her knees in front of him and examined his leg. She opened the first-aid kit on the floor beside her and retrieved some tissues. ‘I'll be gentle,' she promised as she pressed the tissues against his leg to soak up the blood. ‘I hope you don't need stitches.'

‘No time for stitches,' he said. ‘Here, let me do that.'

As he held the wad of tissue firmly against his leg, she grabbed a tube of antiseptic cream and a large bandage. The bleeding stopped and he scrunched the tissue up in his hand, watching as Frankie squeezed some cream onto her fingers.

The cream was cold and he breathed in sharply as she touched it to his wound, but his reaction was as much about her fingers brushing against his skin than the chill.
Oh Jesus. This isn't good.

‘Is that okay?' She glanced up at him as she rubbed the cream into his leg. As he gazed down at her, he could barely even remember why she was doing it, his eyes drawn to the sweet curve of her lips. The memory of the day they'd met landed once again in his head and his chest tightened at the thought. He still couldn't believe he'd just walked in and done that without first making sure who she was—hell, he couldn't believe he'd done it full stop. But there'd just been something about Frankie that had caused all his common sense and propriety to take a hike.

And that something still lingered between them, no matter how much he liked and respected Simone, no matter how much he tried to ignore it.

‘I'm fine,' he managed. ‘I'm sure it's not as bad as it looks.' He willed her to get the bandage on quickly so he could tug down his jeans, stand up and put some space between them before he did something stupid. This wasn't right.

‘There,' she said, smiling as she pressed gently at the edges of the bandage. Her grin did crazy things to his insides. ‘But smoko's over now. It's time to get back to work.'

That was a very good idea. Even if Frankie did feel the same connection he did—and he had no idea if that were the case—they had a cake to make and he couldn't forget that the only reason he was even here was because of her sister.

Logan nodded and yanked down his jeans, wincing as the material scraped against his wound. Right now, a little gash was the least of his worries.

Simone wasn't sure who kissed who first but Angus's lips were on hers and she could no longer think straight. As the music blared on the TV behind them, all she could register was the feel of his hard body pressed against her and the tantalising slide of his tongue into her mouth. He tasted of beer and the steak he'd had for dinner. Nothing had ever tasted so good. Sensations she hadn't been sure she'd ever feel again flooded her body, spurring her hands to sneak their way into his hair and deepen the kiss even more. The coarse hair of his beard rubbed against her face, driving her wild as she imagined how it would feel on other parts of her body.

His hands slid from her face, not at all gentle or reserved as they skimmed over her shoulders and came to land on her breasts. His thumbs tweaked her nipples through the wool of her crochet jumper and she felt them harden beneath his touch.

‘Oh God,' she panted, wanton need flooding her as she pushed herself closer to him and felt what was undeniably an erection pressing into her belly. It had been so long since she'd felt anything of the sort and her thighs pressed together in anticipation. She wanted it. She wanted him. Nothing else mattered right now except the need consuming her body. Her lady bits throbbed with desire and breathing didn't seem nearly as necessary as tasting and touching him.

Indicating he felt exactly the same, Angus pushed her back against the wall behind them and dropped his lips to her neck, scorching her bare skin as he tasted her. She moaned, her head rolling back as her hands palmed the wall for fear that if she didn't hold onto something, she'd collapse.