Dylan wasn’t naïve enough to think that they were going to hold onto the homestead forever. No. Life had never been kind to her and she doubted it was going to do an about-face now. But she wasn’t ready for this, not yet. She’d spent the better half of the last three months thinking nothing more than Beth, Beth, Beth, too busy to stop and come up with a game plan for what she could do if—when—Beth settled on what it was that she wanted from all of this.
If they sold, where the hell would Dylan go? What the fuck would she do? If she went back to working at the club, she’d spiral again. She knew she would. Without a life of her own and a fulfilling job, thoughts of Kyle would consume her. How could she spend day in and day out serving the entire population of Jembala Lakes, all those people who knew her loss, her sadness, who looked at her and saw nothing but a memory of a blue-eyed, blond-haired nine-year-old boy who had drowned inside an abandoned amusement park?
Her young adult years had taught her that she could overcome anything. What riled her most was Beth’s pull. Her yearning had only seemed to grow stronger in the past few hours with the threat of Beth packing up and returning to Sydney. How could she possibly want the woman who was about to take everything away from her?
Beth stood, raking a hand through her perfect wavy hair. “I can’t bloody find it…” She looked up and met Dylan’s gaze, shifted the tomatoes in her grasp and tucked the head of lettuce under her arm. “What?”
“You don’t have to stay,” Dylan blurted. “Nothing’s changed since you got here.”
Beth blinked twice. “Gee, thanks…”
“I just mean that I can handle it alone. You don’t have to feel obligated to be here. You can go, and I’ll continue to manage and be paid and you won’t have to worry about this place until one day down the track. You can just forget about it until we ever, you know, actually decide to sell.”
Gently, Beth placed the produce on the table. “I want to write my book.”
“You don’t need to be here to do that.”
“But you help me with it.”
Dylan scoffed. “Barely.” She averted her gaze from Beth’s bottom lip caught between her teeth. “Look, you don’t have to feel guilty about not helping out here. I can handle it. I love it here. It’s my home. But it’s not your home.” She paused. “I know you’ll get better money in another job back in Sydney. You can go.”
Beth stared at her like a spooked animal, expectant, waiting. But Dylan wasn’t going to make it easy by voicing Beth’s desire to sell. If Beth wanted to take everything away from her, that was on her.
“I…” She watched Beth’s struggle.
“I think I know what you want,” she started, “and I think you’ve wanted it from the beginning.” She didn’t miss how Beth’s eyes glossed over in response, the truth plain. Dylan cleared her throat. “I mean, for the past few weeks I haven’t given it much thought, started thinking maybe you’d changed your mind, that you were kind of into being here, working here, but now…” She released the counter and folded her arms across her chest. “Why wait so long to bring it up, Beth?”
Reaching out, Beth grasped the back of a kitchen chair. “I tried, Dyl.”
“Yeah? When?”
“That night we had dinner at the pub and I invited you back to my apartment.”
“The night Rose saw us together?”
Beth nodded.
“This is what you wanted to talk about that night? Just this?”
Beth licked her lips. “Just this,” she said softly.
She’d been so silly, so gullible. Beth hadn’t wanted her that night—and perhaps not any night. If Beth didn’t want her, why was she standing across the kitchen looking at Dylan like her desire ran as deeply as her own? “That was why you were nervous that night?” she asked. “Because you wanted to discuss selling?”
“I thought you knew that. I thought that was why you followed me up.”
“I followed you up because I thought you wanted to sleep with me.”
The softly spoken words ignited Beth’s cheeks. “That wasn’t…no, I mean…no. Dyl…” Beth stepped around the table. “You’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever known. I don’t want to hurt you or lose what we have. I’ve never genuinely liked anybody as much as I like you. And what happened last night, what you said after we came inside from the fire—”
“Do you want to sell?”
Beth’s eyes were unreadable. She stared at the small vase of lavender in the middle of the table. “Why do you want to hang on to the homestead so badly? Do you feel like you owe it to Elma?”
Dylan shook her head.
“Well, why?”
Reason caught in Dylan’s throat. Beth’s blank stare made her glad that she hadn’t told her about Kyle.
“Wouldn’t the money help you out?” Beth pressed. “You could travel.”
“I don’t want to travel,” she snapped. “I have better plans.”
Beth moved next to her at the sink, so close that Dylan could hardly think. “What are your plans?” she said. “Tell me.”
Why? So Beth could approve? Fuck that. Fuck Beth.
Her face heated under the intensity of Beth’s gaze. “I think we could expand what we have here.”
“Expand? How?”
Dylan shrugged. Desperate to control her trembling hands, she snatched up another potato and started peeling it. “There’s a lot of land. We could build.”
“Build? Build what?”
“I just…I have ideas. Tea rooms could be good—for the tour buses.”
“You want to forgo three million dollars to play tea parties?”
Dylan dropped the peeler, let it clatter loudly in the stainless-steel sink. She glared up at Beth, enraged.
Beth knew that she’d pushed too far. “I think I’m going to pack up my stuff and head off,” she said, her voice shaky. “I’ll come by early tomorrow morning and we can sit down and talk this over before we open.” She paused. “We can take the night to…clear our heads.”
Dylan nodded. She listened to the creak of the hall floorboards before Beth took the grand staircase up to Sarah’s room. With shaky hands, Dylan returned their steaks to the fridge. The last thing she felt like was eating.
It seemed like a lifetime ago since that morning when she’d been excited to ask Beth out for dinner, for their weekend spent together to continue into the early hours of Monday morning. After Brian, Dylan had given up on that idea and suggested an early dinner at home. She couldn’t spend an entire night listening to Beth’s excitement over the offer. At least at home, she’d thought, she could feign a headache and disappear up to the loft as soon as their plates were clean.
Dylan strained to hear any movement upstairs. How fucking long did it take Beth to pack up her shit and leave? As much as she wanted to let go and cry, hiding herself in the loft before Beth left seemed petty and immature. They’d never ended a day without saying goodbye, and if they started tonight, neither of them would get a wink of sleep. She worked on peeling potatoes while she waited for Beth. Maybe she’d be able to stomach potato salad later.
And fuck Brian fucking Lester. He’d ruined a perfectly good weekend. Finally, it felt like something was happening between them, and just as Beth seemed to be settling in—really settling in—the man had shown up with his cheque book. The peeler sank deeply into the vegetable. Fury constricted her throat as visions of how he had looked to Beth arrested her.
The potato landed with a thud in the sink.
Oh my god. Had she just been played?
Chapter Fourteen
As Beth slipped her laptop into its sleeve, footsteps sounded on the stairs. She paused, her heart racing as she listened to the creak of the bannister. She swiped at her eyes, knowing it was pointless—Dylan would take one look at her and know she’d been crying. Quickly, she zipped the sleeve—there were still papers all over the bed. It looked like she hadn’t packed a thing.
Too late. Out of the corner of her eye, she ca
ught a shadow pass by the Perspex that protected Sarah’s bookcase. She turned from the desk. Dylan stood in the darkened doorway.
“What’s wrong?” Beth whispered.
“You already know Brian.”
The accusation fell like a hammer. Beth’s heart dropped to her stomach, her tongue turned to lead.
“You stood there,” Dylan said. “And you…” She looked up at the ceiling, blinking back tears. “You introduced yourself to him.” She padded further into the room and sat on the other side of the bed. “How could you do that to me?” she whispered. “I thought we were friends.”
Guilt and shame were a dizzying cocktail. “We are,” Beth rasped.
Dylan’s cheeks coloured. “Why would you play me like that?”
Oh god… “Dylan. I’m so sorry…” She moved around the bed, pulled herself forward by the bedpost until she was close enough to feel the heat radiating off Dylan’s body.
Dylan’s eyes widened at Beth’s sudden proximity. She stood, stepped back. “You think I’m stupid just because I’m younger than you? Because you have a fancy education? I’m not stupid.”
“Of course you’re not. I didn’t know he was going to show up, and when he did, when I saw him standing there and he introduced himself like he didn’t know me…I promise you, I have no idea why he did that. And then after he’d left, I knew what it would have looked like if I said something. It would have seemed like I’d orchestrated it like some kind of manipulative bitch. And I swear to you, I hadn’t. I mean, I’d been in contact with him, but I had no idea he would just turn up.”
“In contact with him? You spoke to him about selling before you spoke to me?”
Guilt clawed at her, devastating and sharp. “I didn’t want you to think that I’m horrible for not wanting what Elma gave us. And I would never sell to a stranger, but, Dyl, the house would be safe in his hands. I wanted to see if he was interested before I approached you. I wanted to find out our options before I came to you with this.”
Dylan stared through her. “The options are very clear because there’s only one. Elma left us her house. Her history.” Her jaw clenched tight. “She didn’t leave us three million dollars.”
She tilted her head, her eyes pleading with Dylan to understand that she’d never meant for any of it to get so nasty.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
She blinked. “Like what?”
“Like you think I’m just some country-town girl who has no idea about anything.”
“I am not looking at you like that.”
“Why do you keep doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“When we met, you lied about who you were. Today, you lied. Why do you keep lying to me? Don’t tell me it’s because you’re afraid of how I’ll react.”
“Please don’t do this. You know you can trust me.”
“Yeah?” Dylan’s chin quivered. “Did you make me fall for you so that I’d agree to do whatever you want?”
Her eyes widened. “God.” Her breath caught. “How could you say that?”
She watched Dylan’s chest heave. The exposed skin above the top button of her shirt coloured pink.
Finally, the thing had found its voice. As Dylan stared into her eyes, realisation struck Beth hard—the call was more brazen than either of them had thought.
“How could I?” Dylan husked. “How could I not?” She looked upset for about five seconds before something shifted, turned behind her eyes, and locked. She reached out, took Beth’s face in her palms, and kissed her.
Dylan’s mouth touched Beth’s softly, barely moving. She exhaled shakily as she pressed forward, her lips quivering. A breath, hitched. Beth’s lips parted, ready. Her heart cried out for more. She tried to seek what she needed, firmer, rougher, deeper, but Dylan’s hands on her face refused, controlling the pace.
Beth’s knees trembled as her heartbeat synced with the innocent give and take of Dylan’s full lips against hers. She whimpered. This couldn’t be how Dylan kissed, not when she approached everything else in life with such astonishing, uninhibited zeal. She needed Dylan to give so that she could take, but Dylan’s soft, gentle hands were quivering against her jaw, the rest of her too anxious to close the space between their bodies. It wasn’t enough.
She almost didn’t dare startle Dylan—until she did. She traced her tongue along Dylan’s bottom lip, trying desperately to light a spark, and suddenly, Dylan tore away, a harsh gasp falling from her lips.
The room stilled. Desire rolled like a lead weight low in Beth’s belly. The thing had finally been set free for their taking. The source of Dylan’s frustration was clear—it wasn’t so much about Beth’s deceit as it was the fact that they wanted different things.
Dylan’s tongue flitted nervously along her bottom lip. Torment seemed to cloud her eyes. “I really…I…”
Beth couldn’t look at her. She dropped her gaze to the floor, watching as Dylan’s hands balled at her sides.
“I really wanted you to stay,” Dylan finally whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of everything that went unsaid. Dylan’s feet shifted on the rug. She turned to leave.
Beth reached out, curled her fingers around Dylan’s wrist, and with a firm tug, pulled Dylan to her, crashing their lips together with all the passion their first kiss had lacked.
In an instant, it was like something had splintered in Dylan. Her tongue slipped eagerly against Beth’s, her hands found purchase on Beth’s hips, and their bodies fitted together, tight and certain. As Dylan’s hands closed around her waist, smoothing down over the curve of her behind, Beth’s nerve endings sang at the intensity of her touch.
With a will of their own, Beth’s hands slid up Dylan’s chest to her neck, curled there, and suddenly, any resistance holding Dylan back broke. Dylan’s hands urged her backward, across the room to the four-poster bed. Tender hands were at her hips, pushing her down onto the bed.
The moment Beth’s back touched the mattress, Dylan was on top of her, crashing their mouths together with the hopeless fervour of a woman who knew too well that her clock was ticking, desperate to chase what little time was left together. Dylan’s lips were swollen, her heartbeat firing against Beth’s chest, and when her knee pressed higher at the apex of Beth’s thighs and brushed against the seam of her jeans, Beth gasped. Overwhelmed with want, Beth squeezed her eyes shut and rolled her head to the side.
“What?” Dylan’s head fell to rest in the crook of her neck. Her breathing was heavy against the heat of Beth’s skin. “You don’t want this?” She lifted her head and pressed a slow, wet kiss to Beth’s throat. “Tell me what you want.” She peppered kisses up to the line of her jaw. “I’ll do anything.”
Dylan’s leg shifted torturously against Beth, whose mind reeled, foggy with desire. If they went any further, it would only make matters worse. You’re going to regret this, her conscience snarled, but she couldn’t bring herself to care, not when Dylan’s hands were trembling at her waist, toying with the band of her jumper. “Do you want me?” Dylan whispered, her thumbs dancing across Beth’s abdomen.
Beth’s body slackened as Dylan’s lips wrapped around her pulse point on her neck. “Yes.” She clutched at Dylan’s waist as her eyelids fluttered closed. “Yes.”
Dylan hands abandoned Beth’s belly, skimming up her arms and shoulders before she cupped her chin.
Beth’s eyes shot open to find Dylan staring down at her intently. Dylan paused, eyes wild, pupils blown. Holding Beth’s gaze, she shifted. Beth’s blood roared triumphantly as Dylan’s hips settled against her more firmly. She gasped and watched Dylan’s eyes close.
“Beth,” Dylan whispered, her voice almost a prayer, before she rolled her body down against Beth’s.
There was no stopping now. Beth moaned, her body humming with relief at Dylan’s grounding weight. She raked a hand into the base of Dylan’s bun, clutched at her hip with the other. With a whimper, she rolled her hips up to meet Dylan, watching Dylan
’s eyes open at Beth’s responsiveness.
Beth’s pulse slowed as desperate hands swept beneath her jumper. Dylan’s fingers trickled up her ribs to her breasts and pulled at them gently. “Fuck,” Dylan groaned, her head dropping to Beth’s breastbone. Beth squeezed her eyes shut tight against the gentle pressure of Dylan’s soft fingertips at her nipples through the thin satin of her bra.
“Dylan, please,” she whispered. Her cheeks burned.
Dylan tore Beth’s jumper off over her head. She forced the thin cups of Beth’s bra down and lowered her mouth to Beth’s flushed chest. As her lips teased, Beth’s body flushed. She dropped her gaze, watching Dylan’s hunger. Beth clutched Dylan’s shoulder, moaning as Dylan’s tongue rolled, her teeth closing, pulling as she drew back.
Beth’s toes curled into the edge of the mattress. As if Dylan could read her mind, her hands pulled at Beth’s thighs, locked behind her knees and encouraged Beth’s legs around her waist. Arching off the bed, Beth unclasped her bra. Dylan’s hands skated up her arms, jerked the straps down and flung the garment across the bed still covered in Beth’s papers.
Dylan’s gentle weight between her legs felt better than anything had in a long time. As she rained kisses and warmed restless hands over Beth’s skin with the most tender of touches, Beth clung to her back. She slid her hands under Dylan’s shirt and found skin hotter, softer, than she could have imagined. Strands of Dylan’s hair tickled Beth’s chest, and the image of Dylan in the loft that morning suddenly assaulted her. Long blond hair, wild and untamed. Desperate to feel Dylan’s skin against her own, her hands fell to the top button of Dylan’s shirt, but Dylan swatted her away.
Dylan’s lips drifted lower to her belly button. Beth’s hips shot up, charged with anticipation, but Dylan settled a hand at her hip, calming her with a firm squeeze. Her eyebrow quirked in surprise at Beth’s sensitivity. “Relax, baby,” she admonished, and a fresh blush broke out on Beth’s shoulders as embarrassment washed over her.
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