She watched the pulse jump in Dylan’s neck. Her heart beat wildly with the desire to wrap her lips around the tendons there, to taste the sweetness of Dylan’s skin on her tongue.
Dylan’s lips parted, like she had a secret to be shared. A long moment passed until Dylan broke their stare, dropped her gaze back to the fire.
Beth wrapped her arms around herself. “I had a dream a few days after the solicitor called me,” she started quietly. “I was here, in the homestead, in Sarah’s room, and I just felt so at peace, at home.” She paused. “I think a part of me came here to chase that.”
Dylan sighed. “You’ve only been here for three months, Beth. You can’t expect to find home in just twelve weeks.”
But she had. That was the problem. She’d had a glimpse of it at the kitchen table, eating chocolate with Dylan at two a.m. and she’d been drunk on the feeling ever since. She wanted it again. She wanted it too much. “It doesn’t feel like three months,” she whispered.
“No,” Dylan husked. “It doesn’t.” Her shoulders fell with a sigh as she smiled at Beth. “Come back inside?” she whispered.
She followed Dylan up the stairs, waiting close by as Dylan locked the back door behind them.
The parlour was silent, sleeping, not a single glowing phone screen in sight.
Beth stepped out of her slippers and climbed onto the air mattress after Dylan. She pulled off her jumper, tossed it to the end of the makeshift bed. Quietly, they slithered back into their sleeping bags. Warm inside, Beth tugged at the neck of the bag, smoothed her palms over the outside. The smoky aroma was rich between them.
Silence.
God, she could practically hear Dylan’s thoughts racing. The energy charged like static between them.
For a long moment, Beth listened to the sound of Dylan’s uneven breathing as she stared up at the roof. Until… “Beth?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry if I crossed a line. When I touched you. Just now.” The genuine regret in Dylan’s whisper was heartbreaking. “I never…I don’t want to do anything to jeopardise our friendship, but…I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Beth couldn’t stand it. She reached out and took Dylan’s hand, her fingers cold in Beth’s grasp. She rolled onto her side, her back to Dylan’s front and pulled Dylan’s arm over her waist.
They weren’t even skin to skin, and still, the breath caught in Beth’s throat. Dylan’s touch was tentative, the crease of her elbow refusing to fit the curve of her waist. “Are you sure this is okay?” Dylan whispered.
She nodded. God, it’s more than okay.
Dylan shifted closer, the nylon shells of their bags slipping together as she settled. At the press of Dylan’s breasts against her back, desire clawed its nails down Beth’s spine, persuasive and sharp.
As Dylan’s arm relaxed and her breathing calmed, Beth stared out the window over the loveseat, at the full moon spying into the parlour and playing witness to what was brewing between them.
For the first time, lying there in Dylan’s arms, Beth wished it had been somebody else’s name beside hers in the will—anybody but Dylan. Everything would have been easier, clearer, cleaner. Anybody else and she would’ve voiced her desire to sell by now.
She couldn’t let what was happening between them go any further without Dylan knowing exactly what it was that she wanted.
It was time to speak up.
Chapter Thirteen
Dylan came to as the warmth against her front shifted away.
She blinked against the onslaught of sunlight streaming through the break in the curtains. Seated on the edge of the mattress and pulling her slippers on, Beth was only an arm’s reach away. Resisting the urge to reach out, trail her fingertips across the small of Beth’s back and feel the softness of her shirt, she looked around the room. The guests were still asleep.
Dylan watched, unmoving, as Beth ran a hand through her wavy hair and stared blankly at the wall, lost in reverie. She tried to read Beth’s thoughts, her lips parting with a soundless sigh. Her profile was perfect—her sharp jawline, her long eyelashes, the laugh lines Dylan had declared invisible. Beth’s shirt gapped at the back; her stomach jolted as she imagined sitting up and pressing her lips to the skin at the nape of Beth’s neck, feeling the ridges of Beth’s spine against her mouth…
Her elbow sank into the air mattress as she shifted. Beth turned at the movement. Their eyes locked. “Sorry I woke you,” Beth whispered, her voice raspy with sleep. “I need to wash the smoke out of my hair. Can I use your shower?”
Dylan nodded. As she watched Beth leave the parlour, she snuggled further into the warmth of her sleeping bag, just for a few minutes. She looked across the room, and her gaze landed on the back of Jake’s head, the shock of blond hair. She licked her chapped lips. It was so easy to imagine what her little brother would look like now.
Last night by the fire, she had almost told Beth about Kyle, but something had stopped her. After Kyle’s accident, she’d done her fair share of sequestering herself from the universe, and until Beth, she hadn’t realised what she’d been missing. Beth deserved to know about Kyle. They were sharing so much. It was only fair that Dylan trusted Beth as much as Beth seemed to trust her.
She went into the kitchen and began gathering what she needed to barbecue breakfast. The room was freezing as Sunday mornings always were without Beth arriving early to turn on the heater. Before Dylan headed out the back, she snuck into the parlour and stole Beth’s jumper from the end of their mattress.
The morning was fresh with a cold bite that nipped at her bare ankles as she crossed the damp grass. Mid-July in the Lakes really wasn’t thong weather. Quickly, she deposited the bacon and eggs on the side shelf of the barbecue and wiped dew from the plastic table and chairs. She paused as a flurry of movement caught her eye. She smiled, watching as a pair of kangaroos hopped along the far edge of the property before they disappeared back into the bush. Beth was right. It was a shame the others weren’t up, she thought. City folk got a real kick out of kangaroos.
When everything was ready, she headed up to the loft to shower. She knocked on the loft door. No answer. Slowly, she pushed it open to find the bedroom empty, the bathroom door closed.
She stepped inside. “Beth? I’m in here.”
Beth peeked her head out through a cloud of steam. Wet hair paled her creamy complexion. “I’ll just be a few secs,” she said.
When the bathroom door closed again, Dylan pulled her hair from the elastic, cringing at the ashy odour. Fishing in her drawers for a clean pair of jeans, she tucked the shorter strands behind her ear.
Seconds later, the bathroom door opened. “Oh my god,” Beth gasped.
Dylan looked up from her dresser. Her brows worried. “‘Oh my god’, what?” It took everything she had not to focus on the way the water droplets pearled on Beth’s lightly freckled shoulders, in the hollow of her throat usually concealed by clothing.
“Your hair,” Beth said. “It’s so long. It’s beautiful.”
The sight of Beth standing before her, fresh from the shower, made Dylan’s heart race. It would be so simple to walk Beth back to the bed, to guide her down onto the mattress with her hands at the swell of her hips. God, all she wanted to do was peel that towel away and learn Beth’s body in ways they’d both pretended not to want for weeks. How had she survived last night? It was ironic how it had felt so pure and good to lie together in the dark, but now, with daylight streaming through the blinds lighting Beth’s hair golden, Dylan could barely control herself.
She averted her gaze. “Yeah, thanks. Grew it myself.” She cleared her throat. “Are you finished in the bathroom?”
Beth smiled warmly. “All yours.” She crossed the room and pulled a change of clothes from her overnight bag.
“Oh,” Dylan said as she looked back at Beth, “If anybody’s awake before I come back down, let ’em know some roos are out back. They may not come by again, but…” She trailed off, distract
ed by the sight of the satin, navy bra Beth pulled from her bag. She swiped a hand over her mouth and rubbed tightly at her jaw.
“It’s only six thirty,” Beth murmured, looking quizzically as she stared into her bag in search of something, one hand fumbling inside as the other held her towel to her chest. “Those two will definitely be back.”
While Dylan turned sausages on the barbecue, flipped bacon and eggs, she couldn’t take her eyes off Beth. The jeans clung to her calves like a second skin, her upper half lost in an oversized jumper as she arranged the urn of hot water at the end of the table and asked Grace how many sugars she took.
Dylan turned back to the barbecue, adoration swelling inside her. She felt like a teenager again, as she had ever since the festival. Last night, things between them had escalated. She’d slept with other women, lain with them in her arms, but Beth was different. Beth understood her. Beth didn’t look at her like she was strange or eccentric, like she had to apologise for who she was. Beth didn’t treat her like she was damaged or broken, and something deep inside Dylan had her convinced that even if Beth found out about Kyle, it wouldn’t change a thing. Beth had quickly become an obsession. The memory of sleeping pressed against her was visceral and soul-encompassing.
And then by the fire, something had been acknowledged between them. The want…it was mutual. Without a doubt. She guessed Beth’s hesitation to act on it came from her indecisiveness, the fact that, at the end of the day, their arrangement was only temporary. It probably wasn’t wise to start something when they were working so closely together, when they had no idea what they were going to do about the house. But that worry, which had seemed so significant weeks before, no longer seemed to have as much power when everything between them was going so smoothly. Beth leaving…it was almost trivial.
She jumped as Beth’s hand pressed against her back. Beth laughed, her hand rubbing between Dylan’s shoulder blades. Her muscles relaxed as she watched Beth set a steaming cup of tea down on the side shelf beside the tongs.
“You’re jumpy this morning,” Beth murmured as she broke an egg onto the corner of the barbecue plate. She focused on Dylan. “Did you not sleep well?”
She turned to examine Beth’s expression. She paused, their eyes locked. “Are you kidding?” she said lowly. Dylan watched as she swallowed.
Suddenly, Beth dropped her gaze, her cheeks colouring as she focused more attention than necessary on the hot plate.
Dylan fought against a grin. There were so many things she could say, so many things she wanted to say. They were what she would tell—had told—other women just to watch them blush, to overwhelm their shyness with her lasciviousness. But Beth? Dylan hadn’t said a word and her neck was already flushed a pretty shade of pink.
Dylan caught Grace’s eye as she approached the barbecue for her breakfast. “Not a fan of the wildlife?” Dylan asked. The kangaroos were grazing in the distance past the dam.
Grace shrugged. “They’re cute, but I can’t really say I’m an animal person.”
“Beth loves them,” she said as she plated a fried egg and bacon for Grace. “She’s like a big kid. They’re her favourite thing about this place.”
“I do have other favourite things about this place, I’ll have you know,” Beth said.
Grace looked between them with a grin before she sat at the table with her plate.
The last of their sleepover guests had been gone barely an hour when Dylan looked out the loft window to see a black sedan pulling into the parking bay. She huffed as she jogged down the back stairs down to the kitchen. Turning visitors away was an uncomfortable task, but the website clearly stated that the homestead was closed that Sunday and she wasn’t in the mood to make exceptions. Beth was still inside working on her book, and Dylan had her heart set on asking her if she’d like to have dinner in town with her again that night.
Their visitor was a neatly dressed man of about sixty-five. As Dylan watched him cross the turning circle toward her, she realised he had to be one of the shortest men she’d ever laid eyes on.
“Hey, mate,” she called out as she pushed the door open into the wind, cursing the fact that she’d left her jacket upstairs. “I’m sorry, but we’re not open today.”
He chuckled as he pushed his sunglasses to the top of his balding head. At the base of the south steps, he stopped. “I’m not here for a tour.” He threw a foot up onto the bottom step and extended his hand. “I’m Brian Lester from the Sydney Historic Preservation Association.”
Stepping down to his level, Dylan reached out and shook his hand. “Dylan O’Connor. What can I do for you, Brian?”
“I hope this doesn’t sound presumptuous,” he started, “but I’d like to have a chat with you about the property.” He paused. “We’d like to make you an offer.”
An offer? Dylan rubbed at the goose bumps rising on her bare arms. “Who’s we?”
“The Sydney Historic Preservation Association.”
“Sydney? I think we’re well outside the city zone, Brian—by a few hundred k’s.”
“Right, right,” he said. “The New South Wales Heritage Fund usually has monopoly on properties like yours, but they’re struggling financially and we’re prepared to help them out. Lots of donations come directly to us and we’re not greedy when there are properties like this beautiful homestead that also need protecting.”
Taking the last step to the driveway, Dylan squinted down at him. Monopoly didn’t sit well with her. She was about to say just that when the door creaked. Dylan spun to find Beth wide-eyed behind her. She looked startled. Probably thinking of the airbeds in the parlour, the washing on the line, the dirty plates in the sink, the blanket of paperwork laid out on Sarah’s bed upstairs where Beth had spent the better part of an hour working. Their gazes locked. Don’t worry, Beth, I’m not about to offer a tour…
Dylan turned and looked back at Brian. “Beth, this is Brian. He’s from the Sydney…what was it?”
“The Sydney Historic Preservation Association,” he said.
“Oh,” Beth said. Slowly, she took the steps to shake his offered hand.
Brian looked between them. “We manage the Barracks in Sydney, old colonial homes, that sort of thing. Long story short, we manage and protect heritage-listed properties. And we’re interested in your homestead.”
Beside her, Beth shifted from foot to foot.
“We’re aware that the proprietor recently died,” Brian said gently. “My condolences.” He lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the sun’s glare. “We understand that the sale of the property is your business, and you may not even be considering it.” He looked to Beth. “But we just wanted to introduce ourselves. This property embodies a rich part of Australia’s history, and we respect that, so we’d like to throw ourselves into the ring if the case happens to be that you’re considering selling.”
“Well, thanks,” Dylan said, “but we’re not.”
An awkward silence fell over them. He looked to Beth, like perhaps he would have more luck persuading her, but standing beside Dylan, she remained uncharacteristically quiet.
He straightened. “Well,” he said, “It was a pleasure to—”
“What are you offering?” Dylan asked bluntly. “Just out of curiosity.”
He looked Dylan square in the eye. “Three million.”
“It’s worth more than that.”
He paused. “Three five.”
“Wow,” Dylan laughed, “That was a quick jump.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m sorry, Brian. We’re not on the market.”
He nodded, clicking his tongue playfully. “Well…here’s my contact information.” As if he knew Dylan would bin the card the moment she stepped back into the house, he held out the card to Beth. Dylan watched as she tucked it into the back pocket of her jeans.
As Brian headed back down the driveway to Old Quarry Road, Dylan blew air from her cheeks. “That was unexpected.” Why had he driven all the way out there? Their contact informa
tion was all over the Internet. Surely a phone call was easier to make than a five-hour round trip.
“Three point five…” Beth trailed off. “He wasn’t mucking around.”
“No,” Dylan murmured. “He wasn’t.”
Dylan stared down at the two steaks marinating in Elma’s sixties-era Tupperware. As she flipped the meat over in its pool of soy sauce, a bout of nausea hit her hard.
Across the kitchen, Beth was raiding the fridge. “Do you know where that cucumber went?” She groaned over the beeping of the fridge. “I swear to god I put it in here yesterday morning when I unpacked…”
“I’m not sure,” she said, her voice flat even to her own ears.
Hours earlier, Beth’s presence had been nothing but a sweet comfort. Familiar, wanted. Now, with the going down of the sun, Dylan was angry. Beth had pissed her off, and looking the other woman in the eye was something she just couldn’t bear.
After their unexpected guest had driven away and taken his multimillion-dollar offer with him, Beth had wandered back into the house in a trance. Stunned, Dylan assumed. But within an hour, that stupor had broken, and suddenly Beth was beside her, suffocating Dylan. “He seemed very genuine.” “I’d like the house to go to somebody like that.” “Which foundation did he say he was from again?” She wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t leave it be, and Dylan was beginning to feel crazy.
Each time Dylan left the loft, Beth would take the stairs from Sarah’s bedroom, abandoning her work to join Dylan in the kitchen. Beth had made three cups of tea in two hours—nobody needed that much tea. Each time, she’d ramble on and on as she always did when anxious, rake her hands through her hair in that nervous way Dylan had always thought so endearing. Now it just made her jaw tighten. Did Beth actually believe that Dylan had no idea what she was doing?
The discussion that had felt so far away just hours before, little more than a minor, distant worry, had caught up to them at lightning speed.
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