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Chapter One
“So where did you say the snake was hiding?”
It was all Briar Appleton could do to keep his mind on the job while following Marina di Maggoli as she sashayed her way down the passageway of her uncle’s big, fancy house. She was dressed in what she would call casual clothes in deference to the heat, a short floaty skirt and a singlet top he was 99 percent sure had a brand name on the label. Her dark brown hair was tied up, leaving her neck and shoulders exposed.
If he was feeling hot, it would be because of the weather and the long-sleeved overalls he’d put on for safety when he’d arrived in response to Marina’s panicked call. Nothing to do with the way the hem of the skirt flicked with every sway of the hips and the perky breasts under the clinging tank.
That panic was a change for the cool-as-ice fashion princess. By the time he arrived fifteen minutes later, she was back to her regal, snooty self.
She turned slightly to speak over her shoulder, her tone dry. “In the laundry. I told you on the phone.”
“They don’t always stay in one spot.”
“I shut the laundry door and put a draft stopper along the gap at the bottom.”
Efficient, but he would expect that of Marina.
Her long legs drew his eyes, slim and toned with just the right amount of colour. Not tanned, but not lily white, either. Courtesy of her Italian heritage that gave her the velvety dark eyes that seemed oddly cool when she looked at him.
Maybe she exercised. Not that he could imagine her raising a sweat. Her flip-flops were elegant leather with frickin’ jewels on them. Seriously?
She stopped outside a door that had a floral draft stopper jammed against the bottom. It looked so out of place in this professionally decorated house he couldn’t help raising an eyebrow.
“It was a gift from my great aunt. My mother usually hides it in the laundry, so it was handy.”
“Fair enough. Where did you see it last? The snake, I mean.”
“Under the washing machine.”
He readjusted his grip on his grabber and bag. “Can you open and shut the door for me?”
She moved to the side of the door and reached across to the handle. “Ready?”
He nodded and she opened the door slowly, allowing them to see inside. Nothing. He stepped over the draft stopper and Marina shut the door behind him.
“Alone at last.”
Marina’s voice came from outside the door. “I heard that, Briar Appleton.”
Grinning, he crouched down, flicking the light on his headlamp on. The room was bright enough with the overhead fluoro, but under the washing machine was a black space.
“Come on, baby. The mean old woman has gone away now. You’re perfectly safe with me.”
There was a snort from beyond the door and his grin widened. He loved getting a rise out of her. He turned off the lamp once he caught the movement of a long tail. A red-belly black. He nudged the gripper down the side of the machine, past a plastic bin full of rubbish. “Come on, baby, come to papa.” He crooned low words of reassurance as he slid the end into place. It was easy enough in the end. The heat in this room would make anyone sluggish, and he pulled the snake gently from its hiding place.
He took a moment to scan the length of it as he lowered it into the bag, but there was no obvious damage. He could release it on the farm, and it would be fine.
The door opened slowly. “Is it safe? Are you okay?”
Briar looked at Marina, noting the way her brows drew together. Anxious? For him? “We’re both good.”
She narrowed her gaze at the bag. “It’s in there? What will you do with it?”
“Release it into the bush behind my place. It shouldn’t make its way back from there.”
Picking up the draft stopper, she tossed it onto the bench on top of a pile of other stuff and headed down the hall. “That’s a relief. I’m sorry you had to come out so late. Everyone’s away apart from me.”
They reached the front door, and he paused on the steps. “I didn’t mind. Nothing better to do than play with an intrusive snake.” He faltered to a stop as Marina’s eyes looked down and then up, her face showing a flush of colour in the yellowish light from the lamps on each side of the fancy double doors. She recovered immediately, but the colour didn’t go away entirely.
She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Would you like a cup of coffee? As a thankyou?”
He glanced over at the truck. He should probably run. He didn’t do attraction, and he didn’t like the way his body was reacting to her. Marina di Maggoli of all people. If anything, that would probably make it safe. She wouldn’t have a bar of him. “I don’t drink coffee.”
She didn’t take the obvious out. “I have herbal teas. I know you drink them.”
“Hokey-dokey. Give me five and I’ll get rid of Blacky here and join you.”
The flick of her flirty little skirt as she turned back into the house gave him pause, but it occurred to him that Marina di Maggoli was lonely. Why else would she invite him in? He’d had an idea she’d been feeling isolated ever since the breakup with her friends over that stupid letter thing years ago. It was why he’d invited her to Trudie’s movie nights. They weren’t as frequent now, since Saul had moved in with Trudie, so Marina would be missing them.
It only took a moment to tuck the snake into the special cage bolted to the back of the truck. He stripped off the safety boots and overalls and pulled a ratty embroidered vest out of the cab. It didn’t really go with the torn denim cut offs, which was all he was wearing when he answered the phone, but he hadn’t been thinking about socialising when he’d jumped in the truck.
He wriggled his bare toes, but he wasn’t putting the damn boots back on. She’d just have to take him as he was, or he could leave.
Briar hadn’t been in Marina’s house before, so it took a moment to find his way to the kitchen. He’d dropped her home a few times when her car was in dock, but she’d never invited him in. “Where can I wash my hands?”
She indicated a door into a side hallway, and he freshened up in the small bathroom before making his way back to the kitchen.
There were carefully labelled boxes and garbage bags neatly stacked in the hall off the kitchen. He’d seen some on the bench in the laundry as well.
“Are you moving?”
Marina’s brow wrinkled. “Moving? Why would you think that?”
He indicated the hallway. “All the boxes and stuff.”
She shook her head, and that loose strand of hair stroked her cheek. He was tempted to tuck it back as she had done and he stepped back, sticking his thumbs into his pockets.
Her deep chocolate eyes darkened as she followed the movement, her hand holding the kettle, freezing in midair.
Maybe she hadn’t noticed what he was wearing when he first came back inside, because she was taking a good look now, tracking down over his shorts and bare legs, to linger on his feet. A speculative gleam brightened her eyes, and a small curve stretched the corners of her mouth.
She huffed out a breath and resumed the motion of filling the mugs on the counter. “I’m taking the opportunity while the house is empty to do a big cleanup of my stuff. Clothes and toys and books I don’t think I’ll read again.”
“You should come up to my place when you’re done. I don’t think anything has been thrown out since the fifties.”
She froze again, then placed the kettle back in its place on the bench near the toaster. “I don’t think I’ve ever been to your house. It’s pretty old, isn’t it?”
“Late eighteen hundreds. The Appletons had the property even before the Jamesons bought their allotment.”
Sliding the mug across the counter, she picked up her own. “We don’t do old in this house. My uncle likes everything new and shiny, and Mum’s pretty much the same. Don’t get me wrong, they like period timber but not the real thing unless it’s in pristine condition.”
“Sounds like something you could get on board with.”
“How do you mean?”
“The big cleanup of all the old unwanted stuff.”
“Oh, that. I’ve decided I’m going to start fresh. I’ve spent years hanging around doing the same old thing. Now I’m being proactive about everything.”
“Proactive? What the hell does that mean?”
She looked down her nose at him, which was a feat in itself, considering he was a good head taller than her. “My mother wants me to get back into dating.” She looked away, a tinge of colour pinking her cheeks. “I think it’s a horrible idea. She says I’m never going to meet my ideal partner hanging around at the bistro or a local pub like the Spotted Cow. What she meant was that I’m never going to find someone she approves of without her choosing for me. If we were living a hundred years ago, she’d be employing a matchmaker.”
She was never likely to find her ideal partner full stop. She was such a fusspot. Apart from a short-lived thing for bad boy Zac all those years ago, which she’d gone a bit overboard about, she seemed to have such high expectations of guys, he doubted if she’d find what she was looking for. Not that she’d been dating lately, as far as he knew.
His Aunt Mildred usually filled him in on all the gossip when she did her regular check in. She’d started coming out to the farm after his mum died and he was still a teenager, and it had become routine. She brought cake and gossip, and he provided the cup of tea and some herbs and veggies for her to take home. She always took home a big bunch of lavender. But she hadn’t had anything to say about Marina for a long time. Not that he was taking particular notice.
“What are you looking for? Dressy corporate mogul with large wardrobe to fill?”
“Oh, ha-ha.” She wrinkled her nose, looking younger than her age. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. Although professional man would be good too. Mother is all for doctors and lawyers and such. Definitely not cowboys.”
Or hippies. Her mum had made a comment about hippies in his hearing years ago. Among other things. Definitely not on her list. “Sounds like she’s been listening to country music.”
“I’m holding out for someone special.”
“Good luck with that.” He’d meant it sincerely, but she gave him that haughty look down her nose again, as if he’d been sassy as hell.
“You won’t be on my list, Briar Appleton.”
“Like I would ever be interested in settling down with a mortgage and two point five children and a wife who’d be telling me what to do with my life.”
She sipped at her drink. “Is that true?”
“Hell yeah. Not my thing, babe.”
He drained the mug, ignoring the burn from the hot liquid. He needed to get out of here. The whole place was giving off vibes that unsettled him.
While he’d never been inside the house, he had breached the property a couple of times.
The first time, he’d been swimming with some of the other kids when he was around six. He’d always been curious about all the fancy houses on large blocks of land across the river from the farm. Clambering out of the muddy river in a pair of tatty shorts was never going to go down well, and he’d had the odd clip under the ear from owners who found him trespassing. The elite of the Crossing had made this stretch of the river into some kind of high-powered enclave with high fences and oversized modern houses. Only the river wasn’t totally blocked off from intruders.
The fact that it had been Marina he’d surprised with his incursion the second time had been a relief, at the time.
He hadn’t known who she was and while a teenager, even if only just, was preferable to an adult, she’d been pretty snooty. She was wearing a bright red dress with a frill around the bottom and matching shoes, like she was going to a party. Her dark hair was braided and tied back with a red ribbon. She looked like something in one of those flash magazines from the charity store his mother liked to read when she was resting.
“Who are you, boy?”
“Briar Appleton. I live over there.” He’d pointed in the direction of the mountains behind the farm. “Who are you?”
“I’m Marina di Maggoli and this is my house. You aren’t allowed here.”
“I heard about you. I don’t have a dad either.” His childish point of view had thought it would be a point of interest to this pretty girl to have something in common. Had he ever been wrong.
“Who told you that?” It came out sharp, her stance all prickles, like an echidna he’d startled the other day, rooting around under his mother’s roses.
“My mum told us. She knows your uncle. They went to school together or something.”
“Your mum needs to shut up and not talk about other people. Knowing what goes on over at your stupid commune, she’s likely to shut up permanently and then you won’t have a mum either.” Marina had hissed in a breath, covering her mouth.
Her face went all blotchy and she looked a little bit like a fish he’d caught, gasping for air on the side of the river. He’d thrown it back in, ’cause he didn’t like to see things suffer, and he didn’t need it for eating. There was always plenty of food at home these days, now it was just him and his mum and any workers on the farm.
“My grandma died, but not from being old. Do you have a grandma?”
A voice from inside the house called Marina’s name. He recognised it as someone he definitely didn’t want to meet again. “You gotta go. I’ll see you round.”
He’d scooted down to the edge of the river, ready to make himself scarce. When he looked back, the Marina girl was still standing watching him. Seeing him off the premises?
Her mother’s voice reached a higher level of urgency, and she turned and ran into the house. He was almost sure he didn’t like her, but she sure was pretty.
She was still pretty. Even more so, if that were possible. He’d almost call her beautiful if she didn’t always have that expression on her face when she looked at him. Although today, she’d put on a nice smile because he’d been helping her.
“What are you going to do with all those boxes?”
“Take them down to the charity store. It’s a pain, because I can only fit a few into my car so that will be an all-day job tomorrow.”
“I could take them.” If it was anatomically possible to kick himself, he would have. Twice. He was wanting to escape this house. Escape the funny sensations being close to Marina di Maggoli stirred in his gut and lower. Especially lower. So damned pretty, and that flirty skirt was giving him all sorts of ideas he never intended to act on.
Unfortunately, her face lit up and he was never going to be able to resist carrying through. “Could you really help? Do you have time?”
“I’m not needed anywhere else. We could fit them all on the tray of the truck, no problem.”
What harm could it do? Cart out a stack of boxes and he could drop them off first thing in the morning when he came into town.
She drained her own mug and took them both to the sink, rinsing them and putting them on the drainer.
It wasn’t nearly as time consuming as he’d expected. He’d brought in the trolly from the back of the truck, and they were able to take them out in stacks, loading them against the back of the cab. He’d put a strap on them to keep them from bouncing off on his driveway, which was still rough after all the vehicles had churned it up after the bushfire a couple of summers ago. Another job to do. But if you couldn’t help your friends, what kind of life was it. Even if he wasn’t sure Marina could be classed as a friend, exactly.
“Is that the lot?”
Marina huffed out a puff of air. She was actually working hard. She always looked so cool and held together; it was a surprise to see her with perspiration on her upper lip. He turned away from the temptation to kiss her and see if she tasted of something other than salt and bitter herbs.
“Only those couple in the laundry. I can bring them out. We won’t need the trolley.”
“I’ll take one and then it’s done.”
Once again, he was following her down the hallway, fantasising about her cute butt and those silky legs. Ridiculous. He didn’t do fantasy. He didn’t do random sex, and he certainly didn’t do Marina di Maggoli.
He butted right up against her as she stopped in the laundry, capturing her between the bench and his own body just as she turned. Briar got the full impact of breasts against his chest and his half erect dick against her flat belly. It immediately jerked to attention and Marina knew it.
Her eyes widened and instead of shoving him away, she pushed her hips against him. And wriggled. If he exploded right there and then, she would never let him live it down. He fought down the urge to push back and only managed to shift his dick in a slow slide up her belly. He could feel the fabric of her skirt shifting under the rough denim of his shorts. She felt so good against him he knew exactly why he’d been avoiding this situation for years.
It was shock that kept him immobile. Yeah right. It was shocking that she was not yelling at him. But in another way, it felt like it had been coming a long time. All that snark over all these years. It had to mean something.
Her hands came to his waist, resting on the bare skin between the waistcoat and the low-slung shorts. It was hard to decide if it were tingles or a sizzle from the heat they were generating. All from a bit of pressure and skin against skin.
“You have big feet.”
Her comment seemed to come out of nowhere, and he studied her face, trying to gauge her meaning. “Sorry. I didn’t have anything to put on apart from the boots. I’m used to going barefooted on the farm.”
She snorted. “I was referring to the rumour that the size of a man’s feet are indicative of the size of another part of your anatomy.”
The meaning registered and he could feel a different flood of heat radiate from his chest and up his throat. “I’ve never researched the matter.” His dick was more than willing to submit itself to the tape measure. Sitting up to attention like a dog begging for a bone. Boner.
Down, boy.
“I suppose you were never in a locker room with all those football-playing guys, comparing notes.”
“No locker rooms.” He’d been pretty solitary through all his teen years. So no comparing. He’d gone into town to school but then straight home again. There was no time for games when you were running a farm on your own.
He could feel her fingers edging along the waistband of his shorts.
His dick was straining up, without any complicity from him, aching to meet that subtle touch as it crept closer to the zip. “I suppose you’ve had opportunity for comparisons.” His voice came out husky as he fought for control.
“Not for a while. But I have a good memory.”
“Are you offering to rate me on a size scale?”
A faint flush of colour flared along her cut glass cheekbones. “Are you willing to participate in the research opportunity?”
Hell, yeah. “What do I get out of it?”
She licked her lips, and he was so gone. He leaned in and tasted her, running his own tongue around her mouth. Salty, yes, but so much more. The thought that this was a bad idea only confirmed that he really wanted this. Decisions he’d made more than a decade ago seemed meaningless at this moment. She wasn’t saying no. Perhaps she was waiting for him to ask. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”
“God, yes. Do it.”
Her hands kept hold of his waistband, keeping him in position as she rubbed herself against his dick. Her mouth was all his though as he threaded his fingers through her hair, mussing her up like he’d wanted to do every time he saw her. She was so his at this moment.
The taste of her was spicy and sweet all at once as she opened for him, her tongue tangling with his. He’d never done this, never wanted this. He felt clumsy but she didn’t seem to mind, absorbing his onslaught with soft moans and words of encouragement. She knew what she wanted and, somehow, he was giving it to her.
He wanted to touch her. Feel her skin against his. He edged up the bottom hem of the tank top and she let go of him to help, dragging it over her head and tossing it to one side. She was exquisite. He cupped her breasts and let his thumbs scrape across the puckered nipples. She shuddered and he stopped, raising them from the delicate skin. “I’m sorry. My hands are rough.”
She grabbed them and placed them against her. “I like it. It feels good.”
He sampled a nipple with his mouth, skimming his free hand down over the skirt to the smooth skin of her leg and up again. He came to a halt at the tiny strip of fabric at her hip that must be her panty line. “I have to see this.”
Stepping back, he lifted her skirt, tucking the hem into the waistline to hold it up and checked out the G-string. It was a barely there scrap of fabric with a tiny strip that covered nothing. He looked up at her for permission and then slid the thong down her legs, loving the feel of her soft skin.
He’d seen pictures of women, but this was something else again. There was not a skerrick of hair at the apex of her thighs and everything else was right there.
Without thinking or asking, he lifted her onto the front-loading washing machine.
“It’s cold.”
Bare butt on metal. It would be. “Sorry.”
He moved her back onto her feet and shed his vest, putting it on the white top of the machine with the satin lining upside, and lifted her onto the fabric.
There was an odd expression on her face.
“Did I do something wrong?”
Marina shook her head. “So far, you’re doing everything right.” Reaching for his shorts, she undid the button and lowered the zip. He spilled out into her hands. She smiled. “Commando. I like that in a man. And they say that size doesn’t matter.” The way she licked her lips had his whole body at attention.
“Just … tell me if I do something you don’t like.”
She raised one eyebrow. “So far, you’re doing surprisingly well, hippie boy.”
It didn’t feel like an insult.
He parted her thighs and lowered himself to his knees. “You are so pretty down here.” He stroked the pale skin. “Does it hurt, having this done?”
“It was uncomfortable at the time. It took a few sessions. Now I don’t have to worry.”
He stroked the smooth flesh, and she shuddered under his touch. He was starting to be able to read her. “Good shudder?”
“Good shudder.” She leaned back, her hands gripping the side of the machine. A clear signal to keep going.
Her scent was all the things. Sweet and spicy and wild honey from the bees that spent their days in his lavender and rosemary fields. He was going to come just from looking. He wasn’t game to taste. Way to be humiliated if he came too soon. He shifted his attention to her breasts, rising to his feet and licking at the hardened tips.
He looked up to see her eyes closed, her mouth parted to allow the air in and out with a soft gasp on each exhalation. Her thighs tilted, her knees shifting farther apart, opening her. He touched her with his fingers, careful not to scruff up the delicate skin with his callouses. She was so wet, his finger glided into her with ease. He pulled it out and tried again, with two fingers, going deep.
Her breathing escalated into rapid pants, half a moan. Her pelvis rocked and he matched the rhythm with his thrusts. Bright colour washed over her skin, and he had to brace her thighs in place with his own as she thrashed under his touch. He almost came himself, seeing the beauty of her reaction.
When she stopped flailing, he gathered her into his arms, and she rested her head against his throat. “You have a nice touch for a man who doesn’t play an instrument.”
“I’ve done my share of plucking strings in the past, but I prefer not to waste my energy.”
“That was definitely not wasted.” She wriggled on the machine and palmed his dick, cupping his balls with her other hand. “I’d like to try this on for size.”
He sensed danger, and maybe she felt it.
“I have condoms. In the basket beside the machine.”
“Condoms are good.” Any form of protection was essential if he was really going to do this. He stopped the thought. Second-guessing would have him running for the hills and, damn, he wanted this. He reached down and picked up the basket, sitting it beside her. There was a stack of toiletries in the basket, and he noticed one of the packets of condoms they had as part of the guest baskets at the Highland Inn. A bare-chested guy in a kilt. A lot more romantic than a naked guy with his shorts around his ankles.
He kicked away the shorts and opened the packet. Technically, this should be easy. He took hold of his dick and Marina turned her attention to his nipples. He’d never consider a man’s nipples would be sensitive and he fumbled a bit with the condom.
Marina dragged his head down with a grip on his hair that hurt. A good thing, because he was so close, and the damn condom was constricting his blood flow. To his brain as well as his dick. This was all new territory, and he was grateful that Marina at least knew what she was doing.
The kisses were addictive, the taste of her better than anything he could think of. Not that he could think of anything but how she tasted, how she felt under his mouth, his hands. The way her hands were directing his dick to that pretty place between her thighs. She shifted and he pushed in, her sigh of pleasure a form of stimulation he could get used to, echoing in the tightening of her muscles embracing him.
Her hands gripped his shoulders, and her legs wrapped themselves around his hips as she half lay back, letting him see her breasts and throat, all pink and beaded with perspiration. He wanted to bury himself deep inside her, to feel her wrapped around every part of him, body and soul.
He could do this. She was guiding him into a slow rhythm, her pleasure the measure of his success. It was hard to keep that slow pace as his body urged him to more. She responded to his quickening with a soft moan, dragging him down for more kisses as they lost the rhythm and found the stars in a welter of hard thrusts that she met fully, shuddering into a climax even longer than what he’d given her with his fingers. His own ending came abruptly, almost losing himself in a soft welcoming darkness he had to fight his way back from.
He could see why people lost themselves in this kind of pleasure. It was addictive. He wanted to go back for more. Not sensible. Not wise.
Afterward, it was awkward. She emerged from a sensory stupor to stare at him with an expression that he could only read as disbelief. Now that his body wasn’t ruling his brain, he was equally stunned. Briar Appleton just screwed Marina di Maggoli. No one would believe it. He didn’t believe it, but she was still sitting there with her skirt wrapped around her waist and her pretty breasts all flushed and pink. She was all mussed and he liked it. Too much.
This was so not happening again.
He scrabbled in the basket for a piece of paper towel and disposed of the condom. His hands got sticky. He felt sticky, too, but he didn’t have time to clean up. His shorts went on fast, and he gave up on retrieving the vest from under Marina’s butt.
“Look. I should head off. That snake won’t be happy about being stuck in a cage for much longer.”
She sat up. “Oh. Right. Of course.”
He made his escape, hardly knowing what he was doing. His gut was churning, and his heart was trying to clamber up his throat. He blinked away tears. What the hell had he done?
He tried to focus on where he was going but all he could see in his head was Marina. Marina di Maggoli looking all mussed was an image he was going to hold onto for a long time.
End of Excerpt
