“Come back to my place.”

His eyes searched her face and she flashed hot and cold. They both knew they were talking about more than another kiss.

“Sure,” he said without smiling.

They hardly spoke as the taxi sped through the inky, neon-splashed streets. They were too tense, too burning, too anxious. Camille kept stealing little glances Jonno’s way and every time she saw him, she felt completely overwhelmed. This was Jonno Rivers, the most desirable of all Girl Talk’s heartthrob bachelors.

And here he was in a taxi with her. Coming back to her flat.

Barbara Hannay was born in Sydney, educated in Brisbane and has spent most of her adult life living in tropical North Queensland, where she and her husband have raised four children. While she has enjoyed many happy times camping and canoeing in the bush, she also delights in an urban lifestyle—chamber music, contemporary dance, movies and dining out. An English teacher, she has always loved writing, and now, by having her stories published, she is living her most cherished fantasy.

Visit www.barbarahannay.com.

Barbara Hannay captures the terrifying uncertainty of falling in love, as well as butterflies-in-the-stomach attraction. A Parisian Proposition is compulsive reading—unpredictable, emotional and inspiring!

A Parisian Proposition
Barbara Hannay

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

‘HEY, Jonno, there’s a woman asking for you.’

Jonathan Rivers dragged his attention from a first-class pen of Angus steers and shot a quick sideways glance down the muddy alley of the cattle sale yards.

A woman, dressed in a pale city suit and high heels, hovered at the far end of the pens where the concrete path ended and the sloppy mud began.

He stifled an urge to curse. ‘Not another husband-hunter?’

‘I guess so,’ Andy Bowen, his stock and station agent, admitted with a shrug. ‘But this one’s a cut above the rest. You should check her out, mate.’

Jonno groaned and shook his head in disbelief. ‘I was hoping I wouldn’t have to go through this again.’

‘At least this one’s got class,’ chuckled Andy. ‘And I reckon she’s as stubborn as you are. Classy, sexy and stubborn as the devil. Could be your lucky day.’

‘If you’re so impressed, you go see what she wants.’

Andy winked. ‘I’ve spoken to her and I know exactly what she wants.’ He raised his voice to reach Jonno above the crescendo of the auctioneer’s calls in the adjacent stall. ‘She wants you!’

Against his better judgement, Jonno let his gaze slide sideways again. He caught a fleeting impression of contrasts—of a sophisticated female in smart city clothes amidst rough-clad country folk and cattle. A mass of exotic dark hair, dark eyes and dark mouth, set dramatically against pale skin. Physical slenderness offset by a proud carriage that hinted at inner strength.

She wants you.

‘I’m not bloody available,’ he growled.

‘Course you’re available. You’ve sold most of your cattle. I’ll look after this last pen. I know the price you want for them. Get going, Jonno. You can’t leave a lady like her in all that mud and cattle muck.’

The woman was still watching him intently and Jonno knew she would be aware that Andy had delivered her message. He let out a noisy sigh. ‘I suppose I should be good at this rejection caper by now.’

Over the past months he’d literally lost count of the number of women who’d come chasing him since that crazy story turned up in the women’s magazine. Blondes, brunettes, redheads and all shades in between…older women and young girls…plain, beautiful…cautious, reckless, polite…rude…

He’d sent them all packing…

As he strode grimly towards this latest contender his gumboots squelched in the mud. Recent rains and the pounding of thousands of cattle hooves had turned the dirt floor of the sale yards into a quagmire.

The woman, dressed in a soft beige wool suit with pale stockings and neat beige, high-heeled shoes, was eyeing the smelly mud warily as she waited for him at the edge of the walkway.

He surprised himself by slowing his steps as he drew near so he didn’t splash her, but that was as far as his concessions went. He refused to smile. ‘You’re looking for me?’

‘Yes.’ She smiled cautiously and held out her hand. There was a small dark mole just above her upper lip. It was maddeningly distracting. ‘How do you do, Mr Rivers? I’m Camille Devereaux.’

Her curly hair was dark chocolate and glossy, her eyes and lashes closer to black than brown, and her nose and chin were saved from sharpness by an indefinable elegance. Camille Devereaux. It occurred to Jonno that she matched her French name perfectly.

As he extended a brief, reluctant handshake, she studied him with disturbing directness, her gaze intensely curious and not at all shy.

And damn it, her perfume drifted towards him, teasing his senses for a tantalising instant before it was overpowered by the prevailing stench of mud and cattle.

Her hand in his felt soft and cool. Jonno snatched his own rough and callused hand away, shoved it into the back pocket of his jeans and tried to ignore the fact that Andy had been right.

This one was a cut above the others…

She had the intriguing allure of an exotic stranger. Very Mediterranean. Unexpectedly sexy.

His mistake was to allow his gaze to connect with hers for just a shade too long. For a fraction longer than was wise, he’d stared into her eyes and—

And hell. He’d never experienced anything like the sudden certainty that he and this stranger shared an unwilling reaction, that they’d both felt the same helpless stirring. A deep shudder inside.

An involuntary leap of awareness.

‘Look,’ he said quickly. Too quickly. Although Camille Devereaux hadn’t told him why she was here, and although she looked different, he knew she would be the same as all the others. ‘I can’t help you. There’s been a mistake. The magazine got it wrong. I’m not looking for someone to date and I’m certainly not looking for a wife.’ He whirled away. ‘Sorry to disappoint.’

‘No, don’t go,’ she cried.

But he kept walking. He’d done this countless times and it was always embarrassing.

‘I’ve no intention of dating or marrying you,’ she called loudly. Way too loudly.

The bunch of cattlemen who were gathered around the nearby pen of heifers swung their fascinated gazes from Jonno to Camille and back to Jonno and grinned like mad.

‘Another one?’ someone called. ‘What’s the count now, Jonno?’

Teeth gritted, Jonno refused to turn. He kept hurrying through the mud.

‘Jonno!’ she yelled. ‘Mr Rivers, we’ve got to talk!’

There was a hint of desperation in that last cry but he didn’t look back. There was nothing more to say. He’d delivered his message and he wasn’t going to hang around chatting to a beautiful stranger while he fuelled the entire Mullinjim community with a month’s worth of gossip and cheap laughs.

Camille blamed the lack of coffee.

That was why she’d stuffed up. It had never happened before. She had never missed her mark. It was unprofessional.

It had nothing to do with meeting Jonathan Rivers in the flesh after weeks of trying to make contact. It was caffeine withdrawal that had made her hollow and shivery, brain-dead and tongue-tied. Not Jonno.

And it was lack of caffeine plus too much squelchy, smelly mud that had stopped her from running after the obstinate cattleman and forcing him to listen to her.

But what kind of experienced, hard-nosed journalist was she if she let him get away before she’d had a chance to explain anything? To ask anything! OK, maybe thinking of herself as hard-nosed was over-the-top, but she was experienced and competent.

And yet she’d stood there like a ninny and watched him walk off without unearthing one measly reason for his lack of co-operation in ‘The Bachelor Project’.

It had been so unreal…the way he’d looked at her…and…

She shook her head and shrugged. She’d lost it. For some reason, meeting Jonno had shrivelled her synapses. Which was pretty silly considering she’d seen his photo and had been expecting the magnetic intensity of his eyes, the rough, chiselled cheekbones and the dangerous mouth.

The heartthrob, half-mast smile.

It was his smile that had sealed Jonno Rivers’s fate. Well…if she was honest…it was the crooked smile and the huge shoulders and the breathtaking fit of his low-slung jeans.

For the team at Girl Talk magazine, choosing Jonathan Rivers for inclusion in ‘The Pick of Australia’s Eligible Bachelors’ had been a no-brainer. And they’d decided that the pic he’d submitted was so good there was no need to send a professional photographer.

That had been Girl Talk’s first big mistake.

If they’d sent someone out at the beginning, Camille might have been saved this vexing journey now.

The second mistake had been Camille’s. When she’d been put in charge of ‘The Bachelor Project’ she’d made a serious error of judgement. After selecting a range of bachelor volunteers from various walks of life, she’d taken the fellows she’d expected to be difficult as her personal responsibility—the high-powered lawyer from Perth, the owner of the construction company in Sydney and the executive chef in Melbourne.

She’d left the lower-profile contenders for more junior journalists to deal with—fellows like the tourist operator in Tasmania, the crocodile-hunter in the Northern Territory…and the cattleman in Queensland…

And it was only recently she’d discovered that the cattleman hadn’t been playing the game.

Now she’d had to travel all the way from Sydney to North Queensland to get to the bottom of his problem and after several false leads she’d finally, finally tracked him down. And she’d barely managed three words of conversation before she’d let him go.

But if Jonno Rivers thought she’d give up after such a brief, unsatisfactory exchange, he was in for a nasty surprise. Or three.

It was her mission to tell him he couldn’t back out of the bachelor story now. She wasn’t going to let him wreck her magazine’s project and she certainly wasn’t going to let him jeopardise her job.

He might have refused to return phone calls, e-mail, faxes and letters. And he might have put padlocks on the gate to his cattle property, Edenvale, as she’d discovered this morning when she’d driven all the way out there.

She’d crawled along muddy outback roads while her little hire car scraped its underbelly on every bump, only to find his front gate one hundred per cent, in-her-face locked.

But she hadn’t let smug, fat padlocks and rusty chains stop her.

And she hadn’t been deterred when she tracked down Jonno’s brother, Gabe, only to have him refuse to take her by helicopter over the locked gate and into Edenvale.

And now that she had tracked him down to these sale yards and had finally set eyes on the infamous and elusive Jonathan Rivers, she certainly wasn’t going to let sloppy mud stop her! Not when she had knee-high boots and an oilskin coat in the back of her car.

She hurried back through the car park, where the sight of men on horseback and enormous road trains the size of locomotives with triple decks of cattle pens on the back rekindled the unsettling sense of alienation she’d felt ever since she’d arrived in Mullinjim.

It was weird. She’d always thought of herself as a true-blue Aussie, but this was her first trip from Sydney to the real outback and she couldn’t have felt more of an outsider if she’d been on assignment in an exotic foreign country.

She was relieved that at least she was much less conspicuous when she prowled back through the disgusting mud of the sale yards camouflaged by her coat and boots.

Let Jonno hide. She would find him.

She scanned the lanes between the pens of bellowing cattle. Each lane was filled with cattlemen in look-alike wide-brimmed akubra hats, oilskin coats and jeans.

A sudden clomping of hooves forced her to turn and every organ in Camille’s body lurched when she saw a mob of cattle being herded down the lane towards her by a man on horseback. Help! The beasts were massive and their hooves looked heavy and hard enough to crush and maim!

She’d never seen a cow that wasn’t safely on the other side of a fence! And there were dozens of them bearing down on her. Some were snorting, others bellowing. Some had horns! Would there be enough room for them to pass?

Oh, God! Heart pounding, she squashed herself hard against the timber rails of the nearest pen, but even so one black beast eyeballed her fiercely as it drew close. She held her breath and squeezed in her stomach muscles, trying to flatten herself even more.

Glued to the fence like a fridge magnet, she felt her heart thrash. What would the girls in the office think if they could see her now? Surely this deserved some kind of bravery award. It was above and beyond the call of duty.

CITY GIRL SQUASHED FLAT BY FAT CATTLE…

Sydney journalist Camille Devereaux, faced a stampeding herd of wild beasts in the Mullinjim sale yards earlier today…Vale, Camille…Trampled to death while chasing a vital story for Girl Talk magazine…

She was so busy fighting her panic by composing more tributes to her bravery and courage that it was some time before it finally sank in that the animals were trotting past without paying her any particular attention. The man on horseback acknowledged her with a brief nod as he went by, then turned his mob into another lane.

Camille sagged against the pen as her breath escaped. She was still alive. She hadn’t spooked the cattle. The guy on the horse had given her a casual nod as if she had every right to be here.

How about that? Her coat and boots must have done the trick. She looked as if she belonged. She felt inordinately pleased with herself.

Something nudged her elbow and she whipped around to discover a large, damp and very bovine nose sniffing her sleeve. Oh, God! The pen she’d been leaning against was full of another lot of cattle! She suppressed the urge to panic again. It was OK. These four-footed fellows were securely inside the pen. Nothing to worry about here. A snap.

She allowed a few minutes for her heartbeats to steady and her breathing to settle and realised that the pen she’d chosen to lean against was becoming a matter of some interest. Half a dozen or more cattlemen were joining her to stare over the fence at the beasts.

But the men hardly gave Camille a second glance.

Wow! This confirmation that she looked like a country girl gave her fresh confidence. Now she could track down Jonno Rivers through any amount of mud.

There was a rising babble of voices around her and the excited chanting of an auctioneer calling cattle prices. ‘One-forty, one-forty! Hup! One-forty-five!’

She paid little attention. She was scanning the metal walkways above the pens for signs of Jonno and she thought she glimpsed him. This time she wouldn’t let him go till she got what she’d come for.

Her view was blocked by the press of men around the pen and she stood on the bottom rung of the fence to get a better view. Above her, a promising set of shoulders and a slow, almost insolent stride came into her line of sight. Yes, it was Jonno.

‘One-fifty-five!’ the auctioneer’s voice shouted.

She had no idea how to get up to that suspended walkway. If she could at least get Jonno’s attention…Standing on tiptoes, she waved.

‘Hup! One-sixty!’

Jonno was looking at a point just beyond her. She waved again.

‘One-sixty twice!’

Camille glanced briefly in the direction of the strident voice. The auctioneer was standing on the same walkway as Jonno but directly above her, pointing straight at her. All around her, men were moving away from the pen, heading off down the lane.

A ghastly suspicion sent shivers chasing down her back and arms. No, he couldn’t think that she—

‘One-sixty!’ the auctioneer shouted, staring straight at her. ‘Hup! I’ve got one-sixty! Going for one-sixty. Sold!’

‘Congratulations,’ said a voice at her side.

She whirled around to find the ruddy-faced man who’d fetched Jonno for her.

‘Oh, good grief!’ She gulped. ‘You’re not congratulating me, are you?’

His beaming, slice-of-watermelon smile widened. ‘Sure am. You’ve bought a fine pen of weaner steers.’

‘I have not!’ She gasped. ‘I can’t have. Tell me you’re joking.’

The man slapped his hand on the top rail of the pen. ‘This mob of little beauties here. All yours.’

‘But I was waving to Jonno Rivers. I…’ She flashed a frantic glance back to the auctioneer, but he simply gave a curt salute to the man at her side, then headed towards another pen. ‘It can’t happen like that,’ she spluttered. ‘I’m not a genuine buyer. How—how on earth could he have thought I wanted a pen of cattle?’

‘You were standing next to me.’

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘I’m a stock and station agent. Brian must have assumed you were one of my clients.’

‘Oh, my God!’ She pressed a shaking hand to her forehead. ‘You’ll go and tell him it’s a mistake, won’t you?’

‘You don’t want these steers?’

‘Of course I don’t want them.’ She sent a scathing glance over the pen of cattle and let out a laughing groan. ‘What on earth would I do with them? I live in a one-bedroom flat in Kings Cross. My courtyard is smaller than this pen.’

‘You could put them out on agistment.’

A deep voice sounded at her back. ‘Is this woman hassling you, Andy?’

Camille spun around to find a scowling Jonno Rivers close behind her. His suspicious gaze was cold enough to freeze an ocean. Two oceans.

‘Jonno,’ greeted the ever cheerful Andy. ‘You’re just the man we need.’

Camille wasn’t so sure. She’d had about as much as she could take of this pesky cattleman and his sulky silence and his stinking cattle. Her fists curled against her thighs and she felt an overwhelming urge to thump him on the nose.

‘This young lady seems to have a little problem,’ the agent explained calmly. ‘But I’m sure you can help her, mate.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Sorry, Jonno, I’ve got to see a man about a bull. Catch you later.’ With a brief salute, he hurried away.

Camille’s stomach and head were spinning as she gaped after him. She felt exhausted as she turned back to Jonno. ‘At least you’ve had the guts to show up,’ she muttered. ‘This is all your fault, so you’ll have to do something about it.’

CHAPTER TWO

JONNO took ages to respond.

He stood with his long legs planted wide and his arms folded over his broad chest and he looked down at Camille without any sign of sympathy. ‘Before you get too carried away with accusations,’ he said at last, ‘could you please explain what’s going on?’

‘I was simply waving at you,’ she said. ‘And…’ She ran nervous fingers through her curls, annoyed by his air of remoteness.

‘And?’

‘And apparently I bought these cows.’

He glanced at the pen beside her. ‘They’re steers.’

‘Cows, steers, whatever. They have four legs and they say “moo” and I don’t want them.’

A muscle in his cheek twitched and he looked away, then heaved a deep sigh as he stared at something in the distance. ‘I knew you were going to be more trouble than the others.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

He swung his gaze back to settle coldly over her. ‘Did you reckon I’d find you more attractive if you threw in a pen of steers as a bribe?’

Camille gaped at him. ‘You think I bought them as some kind of…of bait—like a dowry? To make myself more appealing to you?’

He didn’t reply, but a slight inclination of his head suggested an answer in the affirmative.

Where did this guy get off? He had an ego bigger than the outback! ‘You really think I fancy you?’

His big shoulders moved in a faint shrug. ‘You’re trailing after me, aren’t you?’

She had to shove her curling fists deep into her pockets before she did something really foolish. He was actually far too big to punch. ‘How about you clean your ears out and listen, mate?’ she said slowly and loudly and with what she felt was an impressive degree of menace. ‘I came out here because you reneged on your agreement with Girl Talk magazine. I have absolutely no interest in you as a date.’

She flung her arms out in a wide, sweeping gesture to take in the mud and the cattle. ‘Could you honestly believe I would be way out here splashing around in mud and muck if I had a choice? It’s certainly not my idea of fun. As for boyfriends, I have as many guys in Sydney as I—as I need. And the last—the very last—kind of man I’m looking for is a cowboy!’

For good measure she added, ‘And I haven’t the slightest interest in getting married. Not ever. Not to anyone. In case you haven’t caught up with the latest statistics, there’s a whole generation of girls like me who are not desperate to sacrifice ourselves on the matrimonial altar.’

His obvious surprise gave her a measure of satisfaction. And for the first time she thought she saw a hint of amusement lurking in the depths of his hazel eyes.

‘I think I believe you,’ he said.

‘Well, hallelujah!’ Nodding towards the cattle, she finished her speech. ‘You might also be able to accept the fact that buying these guys was a complete accident that’s turned a rotten day for me into a total disaster.’

A suspicion of a smile played around his mouth. ‘Did you pay a good price for them?’

‘I wouldn’t have a clue. But that’s not the point.’

‘It’s very much the point. And so is whether or not you have the money to pay for them.’

‘But I don’t want them.’ Camille scowled at him and then at the cattle standing meekly in their pen. ‘I’ve no idea if I can afford them,’ she admitted. ‘How much are they?’

He shrugged. ‘Fifteen weaner steers…at a good weight. I’d say you’re looking at somewhere around six thousand dollars.’

‘No way!’ She suppressed an urge to add a few swear words. ‘I’m saving for a trip to Paris and that’s almost my entire savings! I’m not going to blow it on a pen of cattle.’

She’d been saving madly over the past twelve months. Hadn’t bought any new clothes in all that time! Well…hardly any. And now her dreams were toppling like a collapsed football scrum.

All her lovely dreams…of travelling to see her father again after twelve long years, of discovering her favourite sculptures in the Musée Rodin, of hunting for exciting little cafés in the back streets of Montmartre, or buying something chic and extravagant on the Champs-Élysées…

In a few short minutes those dreams were gone, to be replaced by a nightmare…a pen of fifteen weaner steers in outback Queensland.

Desperate, she rounded on Jonno. ‘How can I get out of this?’

He shrugged his massive shoulders. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘Can I sue someone?’

‘The vendor could probably sue you if you don’t honour the bid.’

‘Oh, hell!’ Camille closed her eyes and tried to calm her rising panic. She needed to think clearly. There had to be a solution to this crazy situation. Her head was spinning. ‘I can’t think about this without coffee.’

‘There’s a canteen.’

She opened her eyes and squinted at him. ‘Good. Let me shout you a coffee.’ When he didn’t answer, she added, ‘Just coffee, Jonno. Not a date. Not a marriage proposal. I just want you on one side of a table, me on the other, a cup of coffee in my hand and a little market advice. If you were struggling to find a taxi in Sydney, or if you were out of your depth in Kings Cross, I’d do the same for you.’

He looked at her quizzically for a moment or two, but then to her relief he nodded. ‘The canteen’s this way.’

He led her down several muddy lanes lined with pens of bellowing beasts until they reached concrete paths and buildings that housed various administrative offices for the sale yards. After they scraped their boots on a rough outdoor mat, Jonno pushed open large glass doors.

Inside, the canteen was crowded with hungry cattlemen and their wives, but it was warm and clean and Camille could see a counter with shiny urns spouting steam and she could smell the fragrant aroma of coffee at last.

Jonno wouldn’t let her pay and she accepted that country guys were probably still old-fashioned about things like that. With her hands wrapped around a warm mug, she inhaled the familiar aroma of her favourite beverage and took a quick, fortifying sip before they reached their table near a window in the corner. Jonno had bought two packets of sandwiches as well. Wholesome, grainy, country bread filled with cold roast meat, pickles and salad.

‘So you want help to get rid of your cattle,’ he said, once they were settled.

Camille nodded. ‘Yes, please.’ Then she took another deep sip of coffee before setting down her mug. ‘You wouldn’t like to buy them, would you?’

His mouth tilted into the familiar, crooked smile that had caused so much of a stir in the Girl Talk office. She noticed that the hazel in his eyes was a fascinating mixture of brown and gold with little flecks of green.

‘No, thanks,’ he said. ‘I came to these sales today to sell, not to buy. It’s not exactly a buyers’ market.’

She sighed. So much for a simple, straightforward solution. ‘Can I throw them right back on the market and sell them tomorrow?’

His smile faded as he looked thoughtful. ‘It’s possible…But before we get too worried about that, why don’t you tell me why you’ve come all the way up here from Sydney?’

Camille’s breath escaped on a gasp of surprise. Buying a pen of cattle had a good side? It got Jonno Rivers talking? Wow! She hadn’t expected this breakthrough moment, but she might as well cut straight to the chase. ‘I’m here to find out what game you’re playing.’

‘I’m not playing anything.’

‘You know you’ve been playing games with our magazine. You haven’t answered our letters or phone calls.’

He showed no sign of apology. ‘Why should I cooperate with totally irresponsible journalism?’

‘Irresponsible?’ Her right eyebrow lifted, but she willed herself to stay calm. Now that she had him in her sights, she had to take extra care not to frighten him off. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘You expect me to fuel the dangerous illusions of a mob of silly, gullible women, who believe these bachelors you’ve unearthed are desperate for marriage and commitment.’

‘We never gave the impression our bachelors are desperate. Heavens, Jonno, they’re all heartthrobs.’ After a beat, she added, ‘Like you.’

He looked distinctly uncomfortable.

‘We chose gorgeous, well-heeled guys, who for some reason—whether it’s geographical isolation or twenty-four-seven commitment to their brilliant careers—are still single, but seeking a wife.’

When he didn’t respond, she added, ‘The reaction from readers has been amazing. We had no idea there were still so many women actively hunting for husbands.’

‘Unlike you,’ he challenged. ‘That’s another thing. How can someone who doesn’t even believe in marriage pretend that it’s so damn wonderful?’

‘How do you know what I think of marriage?’ Camille asked, then flinched. ‘Oh, yeah. It was the seminal text of my sermon in the cattle stalls, wasn’t it?’

She felt strangely caught out—embarrassed to realise that in the heat of the moment she’d aired her personal views about relationships to this man. This too, too sexy man.

She jabbed her finger at a piece of shredded lettuce that had fallen from her sandwich. ‘So I take it there’s been a mistake. You’re as allergic to marriage as I am.’

‘I never said I didn’t want marriage.’

Her head jerked up. Jonno’s eyes were an unsettling mixture of mild amusement and something else…something private and deep.

‘But—’

‘I don’t have any hang-ups about marriage,’ he said slowly. ‘But when I choose a wife I’d like to do the chasing. Nothing turns me off faster than a woman who blatantly chases after me.’

Camille frowned. ‘OK, so you’d better explain why on earth you agreed to take part in our project.’

His face grew hard and tight. ‘I didn’t.’

‘Hello? I have a signed statement saying otherwise.’

A bleak shadow darkened his eyes and his mouth twisted bitterly. ‘Look, I don’t want to go into details about how I ended up in your magazine.’

‘Are you saying…?’ Camille pressed a hand to her stomach. Right from the very start she’d had a strange gut feeling that there’d been something a little different about Jonno’s entry. ‘Are you telling me that you were entered against your will?’

‘Yes.’

‘Framed?’

He nodded.

‘So who sent us your photo? Your signature?’

‘I told you I’m not prepared to give details, but, believe me, it was a mistake. A huge mistake.’

Camille was surprised by how readily she believed him. Nevertheless, the urge to press him for details was strong. In the past she’d never shied away from getting to the bottom of a story and she longed to know how a handsome devil like Jonathan Rivers could end up in Girl Talk by mistake. Her magazine and its readers deserved to know.

But even as the questions lined up in her head, something in his face stopped her from voicing them.

Her experience of interviewing people from all walks of life told her that the door on this particular conversation had clanged shut. It was locked as securely as the gate to his property, and she sensed that to pry would be useless—even dangerous. She could alienate him completely if she pushed too hard.

But her job was in jeopardy if she didn’t.

‘I don’t think it’s possible for you to simply bow out,’ she told him. ‘We can’t retract you from the project now. Our readers are hanging out for the follow-up stories.’

‘Of course you can drop me. I might have fallen under a bus. Anything’s possible.’

‘But you’re one of our most popular bachelors.’ In actual fact he was the most popular, but she decided nothing was to be gained by pumping up his ego more than necessary.

He glared at her. ‘Too bad.’

As he drained his coffee, Camille’s mind raced. If only she knew who had set Jonno up. Was it a practical joker? Or someone in town who had a grudge against him? A rejected lover? A misguided secret admirer?

His voice interrupted her thoughts. ‘What’s your position at Girl Talk?’

Her shoulders squared. ‘I’m an associate editor.’

‘How much say do you have?’

‘In “The Bachelor Project”? It’s my responsibility.’ Now wasn’t the moment to add that she still had to report to Edith King, the editor-in-chief.

Jonno sat without speaking for a long, thoughtful stretch of time, then he looked straight at her. ‘Associate editor?’ Resting both elbows on the table, he leaned towards her and his face was transformed by a slow smile. ‘If you have enough clout as associate editor, I think we might be in a position to talk turkey, Camille Devereaux.’

Help! His smile was so wicked, so distracting, so devastating that she had to struggle to think straight. ‘I’m sorry, I’m not on your wavelength.’

‘I’m sure you are,’ he said smoothly.

Was he flirting with her? No, of course he wasn’t. Her brain had been short-circuited by that sexy smile and she was beginning to think like one of his groupies.

‘We’re both in an excellent position to help each other,’ he prompted.

‘We are?’ She dropped her gaze. It would be easier to think when she wasn’t trapped by that knockout smile. After a moment of staring at the remains of her abandoned sandwich, she felt the fuzz of foolishness clear. ‘Oh, oh, yes, of course.’ She looked up, suddenly worried. ‘You’re suggesting that if my magazine drops you from the bachelor project, you’ll help me out with my cattle problem.’

‘Exactly.’

Her thoughts flew to Edith. Girl Talk’s editor would have kittens if she heard that Jonathan Rivers was no longer part of the project. Then she thought of Paris. And of seeing her father. And of keeping her savings intact. ‘How could you help me?’ she asked, feeling her cheeks warm with growing excitement.

The smile lingered in his eyes. ‘If I take your cattle out to my property at Edenvale, I could raise them for the next few months and then sell them on when the price is right and we can split the profits.’

‘Profits?’ The last thing she’d expected was to profit from his suggestion. ‘You mean I could actually make some money from my little cows—I mean steers?’

‘That’s what we do to survive out here.’

‘Could I make more than if I left my savings in the bank?’

‘It’s always an educated gamble, but we’ve had good summer rain and follow-up rain in late autumn. There’s plenty of pasture in this district at the moment and, as long as the export prices continue to rise, we could make a tidy profit from your cattle.’

Her cattle. How weird that sounded. And yet Camille felt a little tremble of excitement, too, as if she was about to take the first tentative step towards a mysterious new adventure.

‘But of course,’ Jonno added, ‘you’d have to promise to drop me out of your magazine.’

‘Yes.’ She bit her lip as she thought of the battle she would face when she got back to Sydney. Edith would probably rupture something. And Camille would have to find a way to soothe her. But she sensed that Jonno had valid reasons for wanting to be dropped from the bachelor project, and finding an excuse to cover for him would be a darn sight easier than finding someone else to look after her cattle. ‘It’s a deal,’ she said, smiling back at him. ‘Can we shake on that?’

For a moment he didn’t respond. He sat staring at the tabletop, his expression deadly serious. ‘Sure,’ he said at last.

His strong hand gripped hers and their eyes met. And there was something so suddenly fiery and disturbing in his glance that it stole her breath. Her stomach seemed to fall from a great height.

Jonno quickly dropped his gaze and crumpled the greaseproof paper that had wrapped his sandwiches. ‘OK. I’d better go and take care of the paperwork and I’ll have a word with one of the truckies about getting that pen run out to Edenvale this afternoon.’

He stood and she realised that this was the end of their conversation.

Feeling absurdly disappointed, she reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out a business card. ‘You’ll need this if you want to contact me directly—about the cattle or…or anything.’

He frowned at the small card as he held it in his big hands, and he seemed to take ages as he scrutinised every item of her contact details. ‘So you’re heading back to Sydney?’

‘I guess so,’ she said, jumping to her feet. ‘Although I probably won’t make it to Townsville before dark tonight.’

He tapped the card against the tabletop. ‘You should make it to Charters Towers. The road’s pretty good and at least it’s stopped raining. Then you could be in Townsville and catching a plane to Sydney by tomorrow morning.’

She nodded and hitched the strap of her bag over her shoulder. ‘Thanks for lunch.’

‘Pleasure.’ He reached inside his coat, unbuttoned a little flap on his shirt pocket and slipped her card inside. There was an awkward, shades-of-high-school moment while they stood staring at each other without speaking. While she remembered that look in his eyes. Oh, crumbs, he was gorgeous.

He had to be one of the hunkiest guys she’d ever met, and that was an opinion shared by half the women in Australia. But, putting all that aside, now that she was on the point of departure, the spectre of her editor-in-chief’s wrath loomed larger.

‘Was there something else you wanted to discuss?’ he asked when she didn’t walk away. ‘You’re not having second thoughts, are you?’

She sighed. ‘I can’t help feeling I’m letting you wriggle out of this too easily.’

With a shake of his head, he released a scoffing, disbelieving laugh. ‘How can you say that?’

‘Well…all you have to do is put those calves into a paddock and then you can relax with your feet up while they eat grass and grow fat and make easy money. Meanwhile, I have to face my boss and try to explain how I lost you from the project!’

To her surprise, he flushed dark red. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides and he looked mad enough to grab her and shake her.

But he didn’t move. He stood rock still, while his face slowly regained its natural colour and set into hard lines. His cheekbones looked more chiselled than ever and his eyes grew cold as marble. ‘We struck a deal,’ he said quietly. ‘We shook hands. Maybe city folk haven’t heard of a gentleman’s agreement? But, sorry, there’s no going back on it now.’

‘I was afraid of that,’ she said.

‘How you keep up your end of the bargain is your problem.’

He marched out of the canteen without waiting for her response and without looking back.

Mullinjim was too remote for Camille’s mobile phone to pick up the network, so she called Sydney from a phone box in the sale yard’s car park.

‘Oh, my God!’ Edith shrieked. ‘It’s so good to hear from you, Camille. I’ve been fretting that we’d lost you in the outback! Did you make it to Mulla-what’s-its-name?’

‘Yes, I’m in Mullinjim, and I’ve been talking to Jonathan Rivers.’

‘You little star! I knew you’d pull us out of this.’

Camille grimaced. ‘Yeah—well—’

‘I’ve been so stressed about our reluctant cowboy. He’s the key to the whole project.’

‘Edith, I’ve got to tell you it hasn’t been easy. I’m afraid I’ve had to strike a kind of a—a deal with him.’

‘OK, OK. We’ll do whatever we’ve got to as long as we secure his story.’

‘But—’

‘No rampant cheque-book journalism, mind you. Don’t go overboard, Camille. If he wants big money, he’ll have to deal directly with me. Let me do the negotiating.’

Camille heard the faint click of a cigarette lighter on the other end of the line. Edith scorned rules about smoking in the office and Camille could picture her boss’s long white fingers with their bright red nails lifting a cigarette to her painted lips.

‘Edith, you don’t understand. It’s nothing to do with money.’

‘Oh, my God, he wants to sleep with you?’

‘No!’ Camille sank against the side of the phone box and pressed a hand to her forehead. This was going to be even harder than she’d feared. ‘He’s simply not available.’

‘He’s already married?’ Edith screeched.

‘No, listen to me. It’s all been a mistake.’

‘He’s not gay.’ Edith groaned. ‘Camille, tell me our cowboy’s not gay.’

‘He’s not gay.’ That was one thing she was sure of. Jonno had shown too much interest; she’d caught him checking her out too many times. But Camille almost flinched as she added, ‘The mistake was that he never agreed to be part of the project in the first place.’

This was greeted by silence. Stony, bristling silence. Camille could picture Edith drawing deeply on her cigarette as the news sank in. She fancied she heard her exhale.

‘Repeat that very slowly,’ Edith said, her voice dropping several decibels but sounding twice as threatening. ‘I hope I misheard you.’

Camille gulped. ‘The bottom line is he wants out and I don’t know if we can hold him.’

Suddenly she wished she could offer Edith a definite, valid reason. If only she’d forced Jonno to give her concrete evidence that he’d been framed.

‘I’ll explain when I’m back in Sydney, but he’s completely uncooperative, Edith. I’m sorry. I did my best. You know I don’t give up easily, but I hit a brick wall. We’re not going to get anything out of him, so I’m on my way back. I should be home by tomorrow night.’

‘Camille,’ Edith thundered, her voice at full throttle again, ‘you’re not going anywhere. You’ll stay right there, my dear, and you’ll get me the Jonathan Rivers story.’

‘But I told you—’

‘I don’t care what you have to do.’ There was a brief pause while Edith let out a deep, noisy breath. ‘You know I don’t like making wild threats. Our relationship’s above that. But there’s more going on with the publishers than you realise and it’s vital—you’d better believe me when I say it’s vital, honey—that we pull this one off. Now, you get back to work on this lonesome cowboy. I’ll expect a call tomorrow night with an update.’

She hung up.

Oh, help! I’m dead meat.

Camille dropped the receiver into the cradle and covered her face with her hands. She was toast. She’d already struck her bargain with Jonno, her gentleman’s agreement, and her parting attempt to renegotiate had made him so furious she’d left herself no room to manoeuvre.

How on earth could she accommodate Jonathan Rivers’s insistence on privacy and satisfy her editor?

Pushing the door of the phone box open, she stepped outside. Despite bright sunshine, a chill, wintry gust whipped at her coat and she dug her hands deep into her pockets and began to pace. She often thought better when she was walking.

What could she do? Dig until she found the truth behind Jonno’s entry into the project? Would that really help? Perhaps her only hope was to come up with a great alternative story. If she could write a top piece of journalism…about life on a cattle station, perhaps…a woman’s perspective about a cattleman’s world…

She’d include thoughts about romance and marriage…a ‘City Girl in the Bush’ story…

Her enthusiasm warmed a little as her imagination kicked in. She’d have to make it good. She’d have to knock their socks off.

Hands deep in his coat pockets, Jonno stomped through the parking area next to the sale yards, trying to shake off his anger. Camille Devereaux’s parting comment about the laid-back, effortless life of a cattleman had him riled. Easy money be damned!

He knew he shouldn’t let anything she said bother him. She didn’t have a clue about what was involved in raising cattle. She was an airhead from the city who didn’t know squat about the way he earned a living—couldn’t even tell a cow from a steer.

And she called herself a journalist?

But he shouldn’t have let her go without setting her straight. He should have taken her outside that canteen and given her an earful…

Or kissed her senseless.

He stopped pacing. Was that his problem? Would he have cared two hoots what Camille thought if he hadn’t found her so damned attractive? Was he angry because of what she said, or because of the way she looked?

Because he’d wanted her and couldn’t have her?

Damn. He couldn’t stop thinking about her dark hair and dark eyes. She had the intriguing allure of a beautiful stranger. Someone from another world. So exotic…

So what?

She was on her way back to Sydney. She was heading back to the city, full of her smug assumptions, and he’d missed his opportunity to set her straight, to let her know in no uncertain terms just how misinformed she was about a cattleman’s life.

Camille rounded a mud-splattered four-wheel-drive vehicle and came to a halt as she saw Jonno pacing just a few metres away. He’d turned up the collar of his coat as protection from the wind and his dark hair was ruffled. Her heart thudded painfully as he looked up, saw her and stared fiercely.

His face was so dark and intimidating that she almost mumbled a quick hi-and-goodbye and hurried away, but Edith’s commands were still ringing in her ears.

Sidestepping a puddle, she walked towards him. ‘I was hoping I’d find you.’

He continued to scowl. ‘Why? I thought you were leaving.’

‘I’ve realised that I should make the most of my trip and do a story about outback life while I’m out here.’

His upper lip curled. ‘And how are you going to do that? By describing the view from your motel window?’

‘Of course not. I want to do an in-depth feature about the real outback.’

Jonno muttered what sounded like a curse and plunged his hands deep in his pockets. ‘You’d be the last person to write about anything that resembles real life in the bush.’

‘And what would you know? I’m a damn good journalist.’

‘Don’t kid yourself, Ms Devereaux. You turn up here. You stumble around a sale yard all starry-eyed and woolly-headed—and accidentally buy a pen of steers. Then you lump your mistakes on me and have the effrontery to talk about cattle-raising as easy money.’

Ah, she thought. I’ve dented that gigantic ego of his. ‘I’m sorry. That was a thoughtless comment.’

He seemed surprised by her apology. For a moment his unsmiling eyes rested on her and they seemed to focus directly on her mouth. Her heart nearly stopped. Then he pulled his gaze upwards and looked her squarely in the eye. ‘From what I’ve seen of your fancy magazine, you prefer fluff and nonsense. I don’t recall an ounce of realism.’

Her chin lifted. ‘Then give me realism.’

‘In what form?’

‘Give me a story, Jonno. Show me what your life is really like.’

He glowered at her. ‘I don’t want to be featured in any story you write.’

‘I’ve promised I won’t do a story about you as an eligible bachelor, but let me write one about your life out here. If you like I can emphasise how un-romantic the bush is for women.’

Holding up her hands as if to stop his flow of protests, she said, ‘You won’t be mentioned. I’ll keep it anonymous—a general story about real life on a cattle property, a picture of what’s expected of a woman or a wife in the bush from a city girl’s point of view.’

‘Which means a patronising, naive point of view.’

She gasped, stung by his words. How could someone so gorgeous be such an arrogant, chauvinist pig? ‘OK, you win! Forget I ever asked! I’ll find someone who doesn’t have a huge grudge against the world beyond his doorstep!’

Swinging away from him, she stormed across the car park.

‘Camille!’

A hard hand gripped her elbow, but she jerked her arm free and hurried on.

‘Camille, wait, damn it!’

The grip was stronger this time and she was forced to stop and turn around.

‘What do you want?’

To her surprise, Jonno was looking just a little shamefaced. ‘I guess you weren’t to know I was conned into that bachelor business, so I do owe you some kind of a story.’

‘Don’t trouble yourself. I can find any number of friendly, co-operative people. You seem to be the only person out here lacking in the famous bush hospitality we hear so much about.’

‘Listen! If you want to do a story about a cattle property, you’d better come out to Edenvale.’

‘To your place?’ She knew her mouth was hanging open as his suggestion sank in.

‘Yeah.’

‘You mean you’re actually inviting me through that locked gate to the inner sanctum?’

The shadow of a smile lightened his features, but then it was gone again as if whipped away by the wind.

‘Are you sure?’ she asked. It seemed impossible that the intransigent Jonno should make such an about-face.

He shrugged. ‘If you’re my business partner, you should take an interest in the well-being of your livestock.’

She’d never thought of that angle. ‘I guess I should.’

‘You can see how the steers you’ve bought settle in.’

‘Great.’

‘They’ve just been weaned. They were still with their mothers yesterday, so they’ll be highly stressed and they’ll need gentle handling when they arrive.’

‘Really? The poor babies.’ Cocking her head to one side, she hid her surprise behind a teasing smile. ‘I hadn’t realised you were such a Sensitive New Age Cowperson, Jonno.’

His jaw stiffened, but apart from that he ignored her dig and asked smoothly, ‘Are you interested in my offer?’

‘Yes, yes, of course I am.’ She could write about her cattle. Already she could see her story taking shape. ‘From City Girl to Cattle Queen in 5 Easy Steps.’ Resisting the temptation to smile coyly, she kept her face deadpan as she added, ‘I’d be fascinated to learn more about your techniques for gentle handling.’

CHAPTER THREE

JONNO’S brother, Gabe, rang about an hour after he arrived home with Camille.

‘I thought I’d better warn you there’s a journalist from that Sydney magazine snooping around town. She was in our office this morning looking for you.’

‘Yeah. I know about her.’

‘Did you know she tried to get me to chopper her into Edenvale?’

‘Look, thanks for the warning, big brother, but actually you’re too late. She’s already found me.’

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line. ‘I hope you weren’t too tough on her.’

Jonno cleared his throat. ‘Course I wasn’t. We—uh—worked things out—uh—more or less amicably.’

‘Glad to hear you behaved yourself,’ Gabe said. ‘You’ve been so uptight about this magazine caper I had visions of a full-on brawl. It’s a relief to hear she’s still in one piece.’

Jonno winced. What would Gabe think if he knew that not only was Camille Devereaux in one piece, she was relaxing in a deep cane lounger on his back veranda, watching the sunset while Megs, his ginger tabby, purred on her lap and Saxon, his golden Labrador, sprawled across her feet?

He’d been crazy to bring her back here, but he blamed his upbringing. His mother had instilled in both himself and Gabe an innate sense of courtesy.

Only a shabby barbarian could have continued with the sustained rudeness he’d extended towards this woman. He’d never behaved that way before and he’d felt compelled to compensate.

But too late he was realising what a big mistake he’d made by inviting her to Edenvale.

‘It’s a pity you couldn’t have met that girl under more pleasant circumstances,’ Gabe commented. ‘Even a safely married man like me noticed that she’s rather easy on the eye.’

‘You reckon?’ Jonno muttered, and felt his face heat. Not noticing how attractive Camille was had become the major challenge of the day.

He should have followed his initial instincts and refused to have anything to do with her. But he’d made mistake after flaming mistake.

And now she was home with him and had exchanged her tailored city suit for an old pair of jeans and a crimson, super-soft woollen sweater that outlined all too clearly the shapeliness of her breasts, and not looking at her had zoomed to an even higher level of difficulty.

‘By the way,’ Gabe said, ‘Jim Young, the truckie, asked me to pass on a message. He says he’s been held up at Piebald Downs and he won’t get those steers through to you till later this evening.’

‘OK. Thanks.’

‘I didn’t realise you were buying today,’ Gabe commented. ‘I thought you were selling. The prices weren’t too good for buyers this week.’

‘Yeah, well—slight change of plan.’ Jonno sighed. It wasn’t worth trying to keep secrets from his brother. He and his wife, Piper, lived right next door on Windaroo Station and, knowing the way gossip spread in the bush, it wouldn’t be long before they found out about Camille’s purchase. ‘Camille bought one pen of steers.’

‘Who’s Camille?’

‘The journalist. It’s a long story, mate, but she bought them this morning and she’s putting them here on agistment.’

‘You’re joking?’

‘’Fraid not. And you might as well know, she’s staying here for a day or two.’

This was greeted by stunned silence from Gabe.

‘It’s part of a deal—a business deal we’ve struck,’ said Jonno.

‘That’s—that’s—fascinating.’

Jonno groaned. He knew Gabe was itching to ask a load of questions, so he rushed to explain. ‘There’s nothing fascinating about it, but she wants to write a piece for her magazine and I don’t want her to sail back to Sydney telling the world that all I have to do is stick her steers in a paddock and then put my feet up. I’m going to show her a thing or two about the realities of country life.’

‘Excellent.’ Gabe chuckled. ‘They’re fine, noble motives, mate.’

‘Motives? What do you mean?’

‘Oh, nothing.’ Gabe’s voice rippled with suppressed laughter. ‘After you’ve spent so long giving women the brush-off, I’m glad to hear your red blood’s flowing at last.’

‘Pull your head in, Gabe. I’m not planning to make a pass at her. In fact,’ he added, raising his voice for emphasis, ‘I’m planning to show her that there’s nothing romantic about life with a cattleman.’

Gabe chuckled again. ‘All I can say is, don’t let her near Piper. My wife might shoot your argument down in flames.’

Camille was talking to Megs the cat when Jonno prowled back through the house to the veranda. Her head was bent forward as she scratched the ginger tabby gently between the ears and her dark hair fell in a tumble of curls that caught fiery-red lights from the setting sun.

At the sound of his footsteps she looked up, her dark eyes shining, and he felt a startling jolt of desire.

Hell! Every time he saw her he was caught afresh by how unexpectedly lovely she was.

And his reactions weren’t his only problem. Camille was acting as if everything about his place was fascinating and fun. She was supposed to be looking for gritty realism. How the hell could he impress on her that life on the land was hard for a woman, that it wasn’t the slightest bit romantic, when she was determined to be delighted by everything?

From the minute they’d left her hire car at a garage in Mullinjim and she’d driven home with him in his truck, she’d carried on a treat about the countryside—the rolling pastures, the wide skies and the distant hills.

As for the wildlife, every kangaroo, emu, or plains turkey excited her.

‘Now that I’m not having to risk my neck in the driver’s seat, I can appreciate all this,’ she’d said in an attempt to justify her enthusiasm.

The problem was, her delight wasn’t over-the-top or insincere. It seemed to be genuine and spontaneous and that bothered Jonno, but he was hanged if he knew why.

Right now she was becoming best friends with his cat.

‘She’s gorgeous,’ she said, running an elegant hand along Megs’s spine. ‘I’ve never had a pet.’

‘Not even when you were a kid?’

‘No. And now we have pet-police running my apartment block and they won’t let me have anything, not even a goldfish.’

He resisted the urge to ask why she hadn’t had a pet as a child. Getting to know her life history wasn’t part of his game plan. She was here on business.

‘You’re comfortable there, so you stay where you are,’ he said gruffly. ‘I’m going to get a yard ready for the steers.’ He headed for the steps.

‘Don’t go without me.’ She lifted the purring cat from her lap and leapt to her feet. ‘I want to experience as much as I can.’

Her face was glowing and he looked away and glared at the low blaze of sunlight on the horizon. He sighed. ‘Let’s go, then.’

Edenvale’s homestead and stock yards had been built on a rise and from here they had a view right down Mullinjim Valley. The grey clouds that had threatened more rain this morning were transformed now, under-lit by pink and gold from the setting sun, and the whole landscape was tinged with a bronzed glow.

At the bottom of the slope lay the billabong, home to various wild ducks and geese, and beyond that stretched long, rolling, grassy paddocks, pale yellow and dotted with clumps of trees and cattle. On the far horizon a low line of purple-pink hills sprawled.

‘It’s so beautiful here,’ Camille said yet again.

Jonno scowled and strode faster, so that she had to almost run to keep up. At the barn, he pulled three bales free from the haystack. ‘Can you carry one of these?’

‘Sure.’ She held out willing arms to take it. ‘So what happens now?’

‘We spread this in the yard so the calves will have something to eat when they get here. They won’t have been fed at the sale yards and, as they’re coming off their mothers’ milk, we don’t want them to lose too much condition.’

As they broke up the bales and laid the hay around the stockyard’s fence line, she asked, ‘Why don’t we spread it all over the pen?’

‘It’s a waste of time putting hay in the middle—the cattle will only trample it into the mud.’

‘That makes sense,’ she said, standing with her hands on her hips and admiring their handiwork.

Jonno frowned. ‘It’s only a stock yard, Camille. Not a work of art.’

Things went from bad to worse when she insisted on cooking their dinner.

‘I’m handy in the kitchen,’ she said. ‘And you must be sick of having to cook for yourself.’

‘Actually, I cook a mean steak,’ he muttered. ‘And I have a cleaning woman who makes a big casserole each week. That lasts me for several days.’

‘But you’d like a change, wouldn’t you?’ she insisted. ‘And there’s something about being out in the country with animals and hay and gum trees and sunsets that brings out my domesticated instincts.’

He must have looked thoroughly alarmed because she rushed to add, ‘Don’t worry, Jonno. I only get very occasional doses of domestication. I’m not dangerous. I don’t step up to a stove and immediately have visions of a slim gold band and a trip to the altar. Cooking is as far as I go.’

‘Glad to know I’m safe,’ he said with a wry grin. If only he could be as casual about this as she was. But somehow, letting Camille Devereaux into his kitchen felt more dangerous than entering a bull ride at a rodeo.

Rummaging around in Jonno’s kitchen and concocting a meal from what she found was fun. Thinly sliced beef, onions, capsicum, carrot and celery combined with a sweet chilli sauce quickly became a tasty Asian-style stir-fry, but when they sat down to eat at the round pine table, Camille’s sense of fun turned edgy.

What was she doing here, alone and sharing an unnatural cosiness with this puzzling, gorgeous man? She’d spent the best part of the day at war with him and yet here they were—just the two of them in his whopping great empty homestead, with a meal to share and a long night ahead.

With Jonno’s self-conscious glances and her screaming hormones!

They ate in conspicuous, restless silence. Camille would have liked to interview Jonno but suddenly the usual getting-to-know-you type questions made the meal feel too much like a date. Heaven forbid. Jonno was so touchy about husband-hunting women. Any sign that she was attracted to him and he would have her out on her ear and she’d miss out on her story.

And even if he wasn’t so hostile, what the heck was the point of being attracted to Jonno Rivers anyhow? They belonged in different worlds.

But she’d never felt so much chemistry. The kitchen was sizzling with it. And a dark, secretive fire burned in Jonno’s eyes whenever he looked at her. She’d never been so tongue-tied, so out of her depth…

It was a relief when his chair scraped on the timber floor and he jumped to his feet. ‘I can hear the cattle truck bringing your steers.’

He crossed quickly to the row of hooks near the back door where his heavy outdoor coat was hanging. ‘You don’t have to come outside now. It’s cold and you won’t be able to see much in the dark.’

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