The Breaker (Erotic Country #1.) (7 page)

Then she sank to the
floor. What sort of idiot was she? This wasn’t okay. For a guy to mark her like
that? It was sadistic, dark and disturbing.

And very, very
horny
.

At dinner, she tried
to be nice to Pete, but not so nice that he would get the wrong idea. Young
pups like him were easily led, she had learned, and that wasn’t her intention
at all. After eating, she joined the boys for a game of pool and lost badly. She
regained faith in herself by not checking out the window for his car once. She
could handle this. She was strong and independent. As always.

But where the hell
was he?

His ute rolled slowly
down the driveway just after three in the morning, its lights dimming and then
turning off before it reached the house. His lights went on for a short while
before switching off, and then the station was silent again, except for
screeching bats over the fig trees.

He was back.

Sophie collapsed into
her bed and fell asleep.

* * * * *

The next day he gave no clues as to
where he’d been. Why would he? In fact, he barely acknowledged her unless it
involved work. With anything to do with the horses or the property, he was
polite and reasonable. But then he just got on with working.

She found it easiest
to mirror his behaviour and pretend he didn’t exist. It was weird at first, but
over the course of the week, working in silence alongside him, she nearly got
used to it.

She tried not to think
of him naked; she banished all thoughts of lying on top of him in a bathtub
under a blue gum in the middle of the outback. And she certainly didn’t recall
sucking on his cock in the back of the truck or being chained while he bit her
nipples so hard she wanted to scream. And as for his hand down her silk pants
circling her clit – she just didn’t go there.

Except at night.

His shutters stayed
down, but she saw his lamp on until the small hours, glowing softly around the
edges of the shutters. Did he think of her while he sat up late? Were his
sheets really white? Did he wank with one hand or two? Man, she had to stop
thinking like this.

Did he remember her
coming in the bathtub while he watched?

Or did he think of her
in the front of the truck. Good grief, she hoped not – what an idiot thing to
do. Thank goodness he was the tight-lipped sort who wasn’t likely to share that
little encounter with anyone. Or did he think about Sam? His daughter. How old
was she when he lost her? How did he lose her?

When she thought of
the hurt in his eyes when he said his daughter’s name, she badly wanted to go
to him, but Liz’s voice of reason stopped her. He was a fucked unit and she
should forget about him.

So she got on with her
job and tried to pretend he wasn’t there. He made that easy, carrying on as if
nothing had ever happened between them.

On Saturday and
Sunday, he stayed behind closed doors. Monday and Tuesday went okay. But Wednesday
didn’t.

Hand serving three
outside mares was excruciating. The stallion, called Bully, while usually quiet
to handle was a territorial breeder and aggressive around mares. So of course
Brett had to handle Bully, while she held the mares.

He was the ultimate
professional while the stallion roared its head off and screamed noisily,
waving its big dick all over the place and flinging semen all over the mare.
She stood holding the mare by the halter, wishing horses weren’t so noisy with
this. They were so loud and in your face. It was impossible to whistle happily,
look around and pretend it wasn’t happening.

Brett, sadist that he
was, insisted on breeding hobbles, buckling the mare’s back feet and attaching
them to a rope around her neck so she couldn’t kick the stallion in the nuts.
Not that the stallion didn’t deserve it – his manners were atrocious – but his
nuts were worth their weight in gold to Boss Carney, who stood watching on the
sidelines, so on went the hobbles.

Meanwhile, the
stallion was allowed to bite the mare as hard as he liked. Sophie held her
steady and looked the other way, up at the sky, down at the ground, over to the
office building, anywhere but at Brett. Meanwhile the stallion teetered around
on his hind legs, screaming loud and proud, aiming his enraged schlong through
the tail of the mare and thrusting her so hard she fell forward into Sophie’s hold.
He pushed back and forth a few times, grunting and squealing, gave one final
push, jerked, rolled his eyes and collapsed over her back, looking drunk and
dopey with his forelegs slung either side of her rib cage.

When he didn’t look like
getting off, and Brett did nothing to make him, she couldn’t help herself; she
stepped forward and flicked him on the nose with one finger. ‘Get off her,’ she
snipped. The stallion jerked back in surprise and then slowly slithered off the
mare. His dick hung limp and drooling. She immediately began untying the mare’s
restraints.

That was Wednesday.

On Thursday she
watched him ride the small grey colt for the first time. It moved freely and
without resistance from the first step as it walked around the arena. It was a
beautiful thing to watch. Resistance, her father had taught her, always killed
the beauty in a horse’s movement. This animal had none, walking calmly,
maintaining its pace without rushing or slowing, at peace with what was
happening. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. He pushed it into a trot and
then a canter with the same result. She could watch him ride all day.

By Friday she couldn’t
keep up the distant professionalism any longer. She joined him by the steel
rails of the yard and took his hand. He gave her a sharp look, but let her
guide his hand. She curled his fingers into his palm, guided his index finger
over the dust and wrote
BRETT
into the rail.

Her heart took a major
dive when he pulled his hand away.

‘They’re right,
Sophie,’ he said quietly, and without malice. ‘You shouldn’t get involved with
me.’

He gathered up a coil
of rope he’d been using, slung it over his shoulder and walked away.

Sophie was a mess. She sat on the
couch sobbing while Liz hurriedly pulled tissues from the box. ‘Oh for Pete’s
sake, you’ve only known him for a week,’ she scolded. ‘Pull yourself together,
girl.’

She brought Sophie a
beer from the fridge, stood over her while she drank it and then passed her
another one. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Get up and get ready for the rodeo. We’ll
get a lift with Mike. All the Bangaloo crew will be there, and the local
fireys. There will be a ratio of men to women of about twenty to one. Get your
dancing shoes on!’

Sophie smiled through
her tears. Maybe that’s what she needed. To get off this isolated property. To remind
herself that there were more than twelve humans in the universe. If there were
any alright men within cooee of this place, they would be at the rodeo tonight.

Last year she had
shagged Rene Jones, the most gorgeous bull rider on the circuit. She’d won the
ladies steer ride, being one of only two competitors and he’d won the bull
ride. They’d celebrated with a night of debauchery in the back of his truck. Then
they’d swapped undies to take home and hang over their trophies, which had been
hilarious at the time, but seemed kind of trashy, looking back. She wondered if
he would be back again. He was sort of alright.

She nodded and got up.
‘Skirt, shorts or jeans?’

‘Are you riding?’
asked Liz.

‘Nah. Entries closed
weeks ago.’

‘Go the short skirt.
If I had your legs I’d wear one up to my armpits.’

‘You scrub up okay,
Miss Lizzy,’ she smiled. ‘Let me do your make up.’

‘Deal.’

By the time Sophie was
finished with her, Liz looked great. Big though she was, she was perfectly
proportioned, with large breasts and a beautiful face. Her hair was blonde and
silky and whipped around her face in a way that was soft and feminine.

‘You’re beautiful,’
said Sophie, applying the last touches of makeup and standing back to admire
her friend. ‘I might take you home tonight myself.’

‘If I drink too much,
please do,’ said her friend.

They decided on perfumes
and then Sophie went to her room to get changed. As she went to close her
blinds, she noticed Brett’s were up. His lamp was on. Her whole world ground to
a halt. What did that mean? He wanted her to come over? Unlikely.

He didn’t want her to
go to the rodeo? More likely. Control freak.

Suddenly everything
got complicated again. Was she blowing yet another chance to be with him? Should
she be with him? Should she stay the hell away from him? A thousand questions
played in her head while she pulled on a short skirt and Cuban-heeled boots.

She was over-thinking
this. She wasn’t the centre of his universe. He was probably just sick of
living with his windows shut. It was a hot February night, after all. Maybe he
wanted a cool breeze through the house. Maybe he opened the shutters because he
thought she’d already gone out.

Maybe.

Or maybe not.

There was only one way
to find out. She slipped into her shirt, finished off her makeup and slung her
bag over her shoulder. ‘I’m just going to pop my head in and say goodbye to
Brett,’ she said as she passed Liz in the lounge room. ‘I’ll see you at the
car.’

She rolled her eyes.

‘He’s not an axe
murderer, Liz,’ she snapped.

‘Close enough.’

Sophie ignored her and
slipped out the front door.

* * * * *

Her boots made a clunking sound as
she climbed his front steps. She walked briskly around the verandah to the side
door, where the light was on. The hall was dark, but the lounge light burned
softly at the end.

She found him sitting
on the floor with his back to the couch. His long legs were stretched out and at
the end of his jeans, his feet were bare. He wore a threadbare singlet top. A
thick book sat in his lap, opened. He looked up and seemed surprised, startled
even, to see her. In his face, she saw as many questions as she had. What was
she doing here, all dressed up?

She didn’t even know
herself. This was a mistake. She turned to go.

‘Sophie!’ he barked
and scrambled off the floor.

She spun around.

He stood in the
doorway of the lounge room, mostly a silhouette. They paused and drank each
other in. His physique was perfection. Shadows cast over his face, hiding his
eyes. But she knew they were running all over her.

She suddenly wished
she’d worn jeans. The skirt brought attention. She had crazy long legs and she
knew it. She didn’t want him thinking that she was setting out to go and get
laid by some cowboy out the back of the chutes. All he had to do was say the
word and she would dump her bag and stay with him. She waited. Why wasn’t he
speaking?

‘Just stay safe,’ he finally
said.

‘I’m not riding,’ she
said.

He cocked his head,
questioningly.

‘Steers. I ride steers,’
she said.

‘You ride steers?’

‘Usually. But I didn’t
get my entries in.’ She shrugged. ‘Forgot.’

He whistled and
scratched the back of his neck.

‘You can come if you
want.’

He shook his head.

She walked up to him
with her thumb hooked under her handbag, reached up on her toes and gave him a
peck on the cheek. It was fleshy, clean shaven and smelled unbelievable.
Kissing it seemed so weird and wifey.

As she turned to leave
he took her by the hand and pulled her back to him, wrapping both arms around
her and putting his face in her hair. She ran her hands up his back and had to
stop herself from running her leg up his too. The smell of him, fresh out of a
shower and with clean clothes, was just wonderful. His arms squeezed. The warm,
smooth skin of them touched her face.

Then he pulled back
and looked her in the eye. ‘I was thinking more on the road. Drive safe. Heaps
of pissed idiots around after rodeos.’

She shrugged. The
lecture seemed out of character for him. ‘Yes, Dad.’

He flinched ever so
slightly. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered.

He kissed her briefly.
It was forgiving but also possessive; enough to warn her not to bring anyone
else home.

As she turned to leave
she felt a sharp sting across the top of her leg. She spun around as she
realised he had slapped her. Hard. ‘And don’t be a brat,’ he said in a rough
voice.

She dropped her hand
bag, raised her skirt and pulled her lace pants to one side, making sure he got
a full view of her cheek. ‘You left a mark on me,’ she said with mock horror.
Then she bent slowly, arching her back and pointing her arse to the sky, picked
up her bag and sauntered down the hallway, wriggling her bum back into her
skirt. She couldn’t get the grin off her face.

* * * * *