Kate Hoffmann - Australian Quinns

“But it sounds like fun,” Payton said, leaning forward and bracing her elbows on the table. “I always loved balls and dances and cotill—” She stopped short, as if she’d suddenly revealed too much. Forcing a smile, she continued, “Is it formal or semiformal?”

“Tell her, Teague,” Brody insisted, chuckling to himself. Though Payton hadn’t said much, she had revealed something of value this time out. She’d either enjoyed a high-class upbringing or she was a professional princess. He’d never known a single person who’d been to a real ball.

“It’s not really a ball, the way you’re thinking,” Teague explained. “And by silliness, I mean debauchery.”

“It’s more like a big outdoor party,” Callum explained.

Teague nodded. “There’s music and drinking and…well, the whole idea is to get pissed, have a good time and hopefully enjoy a shag at the end of the night.”

Gemma and Payton looked at each other, shocked expressions on their faces. “Have sex?” Payton asked.

Teague nodded. “Yeah, I guess that’s the point. Lots of blokes bring their swag along for just that purpose. Life gets real lonely in the outback.”

“What is swag?” Gemma asked. “Money? Do you pay for sex?”

“It’s a sleeping roll,” Brody explained. “Camping gear. Believe me, you don’t want to go to the B and S. It gets feral.”

“Filthy is a better word for it,” Mary said as she set a bowl of peas next to Brody. She took her spot at the far end of the table. “If you don’t want to get dirty or pawed, I wouldn’t recommend it. And the loos are disgusting.”

“I heard they’re going to do something about that,” Callum commented. “The organizers reckon they’ll get a better class of sheilas if they guarantee clean toilets. They’re going to hire someone to keep them tidy.”

“I remember last year, Jack made his own loo with a milk crate and a dunny seat,” Teague said. “All the girls were wild for it. He’d let ’em use it, then try to charm them out of their grundies. Such a player, our Jack.”

The lanky stockman shook his head, his long hair falling into his eyes. “I won’t be able to compete with trailer toilets,” Jack said glumly.

“It might be fun,” Payton said. She turned to Gemma. “What do you think? When in Australia, do as the Aussies do?”

Gemma laughed. “We’d have to get something nice to wear.”

“I have dresses,” Payton said. “I need work clothes. I can’t wear Davey’s castoffs forever. Not that I don’t appreciate the loan,” she said, giving the kid a warm smile.

“I have to fly to Brisbane in a few days. I could take you shopping,” Teague offered.

“Hang on there,” Callum interrupted. “Gemma and Payton are not going to Bachelors and Spinsters.”

“We won’t participate,” Gemma said. “We’ll just go to…observe. Think of it as sightseeing. Or anthropological research.”

“If you want to see the real sights of Australia, I’ll take you,” Teague said. “Queensland is beautiful from the air.”

“There’s an idea,” Callum said. “You’d be much safer in a plane piloted by our brother than at Bachelors and Spinsters.”

Brody slipped his hand beneath the table and smoothed his palm along Payton’s thigh. “We could always send Mary to the ball. It’s about time she got off this station and had a bit of fun. There are plenty of blokes who’d fancy a dance with our Mary.”

The older woman’s cheeks turned bright red and she hushed the laughter around the table. “Maybe I will,” she said, giving them all a haughty expression. “I’d venture to say I could outdance all you boys.”

The rest of the dinner conversation focused on the sights that every visitor in Australia needed to see, the Bachelors and Spinsters forgotten. Everyone at the table had an opinion about the finest tourist sights, both in and outside of Queensland. By the time they’d finished dessert, Teague had a long list, starting with a trip to Brisbane.

As Mary began to clear the table, Brody pushed back, then slid Payton’s chair out for her. The rest of the hands looked at him in disbelief. “What are you all gawking at? Some of us here have good manners,” Brody said.

The men quickly scrambled to their feet and rushed to Gemma’s chair, but Callum waved them off. In truth, Brody’s actions had nothing to do with manners. He wanted Payton all to himself and the faster that happened the better. But she seemed determined to keep him waiting.

“I’m going to help Mary clean up,” she said, taking his plate and hers.

“Go along with you now. I have all the help I can handle,” Mary said. “Davey promised to lend a hand.”

Brody squeezed her elbow and pulled her along, out the backdoor to the porch that ran the width of the house. He found a dark corner and pushed her back against the house, then kissed her long and hard, his hands trapping her arms on either side of her head, his hips pressing into hers.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since I sat down next to you.” He groaned.

Payton clutched the front of his shirt, then pushed up onto her toes and kissed him back. “Me, too,” she said breathlessly. “I know where we can go. Some-place private.”

This time, she pulled him along. They headed toward the stables, now dark and silent. When they got inside, Payton fumbled around in the gloom. “There’s a flashlight here somewhere.”

Brody grabbed it from a shelf above her head and flipped it on, holding it under his chin. “It’s called a torch,” he said.

Payton held out her hand and he gave it to her. They made their way down the length of the stable to an empty stall. She slid the door open and stepped inside. To Brody’s surprise, she’d laid blankets over a mound of straw and arranged a few bales for seating.

“You did this?”

Payton nodded. “When you left to take the phone call. I figured we wouldn’t have any privacy in the bunkhouse with Gemma there.”

“And what do you plan to do with me once you’ve lured me inside?” he teased.

“I think we should get to know each other a little better,” she said. She caught the front of his shirt and pulled him toward her. “There’s so much I don’t know about you. So many questions I have to ask.”

“You want to talk?”

She nodded.

“I don’t know anything about you,” he said, smiling down at her. “Tell me something. Anything”

“My birthday is August tenth,” she said. “I’m going to be twenty-six.”

“Something more interesting,” he demanded, his breath warm against her mouth.

“I broke my arm when I fell off my horse. I was seventeen. I had to have surgery.” She pointed to her elbow. “I have a scar.”

He ran his fingers through her hair and she closed her eyes and tipped her head back. “Something more intimate,” he urged, pressing his lips to her throat.

“I lost my virginity in a stable. The Grand Prix in 2001. A month before I broke my arm. I was seduced by a Brazilian stable hand with the most beautiful blue eyes.”

“Funny,” Brody replied. “I lost mine in the back of my mother’s car after footy practice. I was fifteen and she was older. Eighteen, if I recall.”

Payton worked at the buttons of his shirt and when they were all undone, she looked up at him. “What else?”

Brody chuckled. “I think we can leave the questions until later.”

“So you know what you’re doing?” she whispered.

Somehow, he found her question incredibly intriguing. “Yes,” he replied as she slid his shirt over his shoulders. “I know exactly what I’m doing. Do you?”

She nodded. “Close the door.”

Brody moved to do as she asked, then froze. Hell, he didn’t know what he was doing. He hadn’t even bothered to bring along protection. “Sorry,” he said, turning to face her. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”