She leaned closer, resting her forehead against his. “I love you too.”
“Does that mean you’ll stay?”
She didn’t answer right away. He watched the independent woman rear her head.
“What would I do? I studied to be a journalist. There isn’t much demand for those skills on the station. I can’t stay here indefinitely as a guest. I won’t do that.”
Hunter chuckled. Her response was so typically Annie. Of course she didn’t want to be a kept woman. Her father had made that offer and she’d refused. She had far too much pride and energy to stand idly by while everyone else around her worked. “Do you need a job description? Jesus, Annie. There are a thousand chores to be done around here every day. How about we chisel out a few and make them yours? They may not be fun or glamorous and I’m worried you might get bored—”
“I’d never get bored here.”
He sensed they were getting closer to an answer. Hunter stroked her cheek softly. “Never is a long time.”
“Have you ever gotten bored at Farpoint?”
He shook his head. “No, but—”
“But what?”
“This is my home.”
She grinned. “I’m sort of hoping it might be mine too.”
He grasped her hands in his, kissing her knuckles. “It’ll be yours for however long you want to stay.”
They moved in unison, neither of them able to resist, sealing the deal with a kiss.
When they pulled apart, he marveled at the sheer joy on her face. She lit up brighter than a Christmas tree. She was beautiful. She was staying.
She stood up and looked around at the hot desert he called home. “I have to admit, this is a nice twist.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“The misplaced princess landed in Oz and realized she wasn’t lost at all. She’d found home.”
The End
Preview the next book
Outback Cowboy
Farpoint Creek Cattle Station, Book 2
Mari Carr and Lexxie Couper
Blurb
Flying halfway ’round the world to meet his potential soul mate sounds like a fine idea to Dylan Sullivan—until he discovers said soul mate, Annie, has gone looking for him. In Australia. Now Dylan’s adrift, a bloke from the Outback alone in the bloody big city. Until he’s rescued by Monet, a gorgeous local artist…and Annie’s best friend.
A dyed-in-the-wool New Yorker, Monet has never met anyone like Dylan. Taking temporary care of the sizzling-hot cowboy is easy; he’s friendly, funny and interesting. Keeping her hands off him is decidedly not easy. That horny accent, that killer grin…and as a successful artist, Monet is very much a hands-on sort of girl.
Dylan and Monet hold back until they learn Annie is engaged in her own foreign affair in Oz. Then all bets—and clothes—are off. But it can only be a fling. An Aussie cowboy doesn’t belong in New York any more than a city girl belongs in the Outback.
Now if only their hearts would listen.
Excerpt
Monet Carmichael knew she shouldn’t be laughing. Nor smiling. The poor cowboy in front of her truly looked like the definition of confusion. But oh boy, what a beautiful definition it was. Okay, not so much that he was confused, but just the way he looked in general. His strong lips and chiseled bone structure, the perfect growth of honey-brown stubble on his jaw and chin, the hat.
Every inch of him screamed MAN. Virile, potent man.
Having grown up a dyed-in-the-wool New Yorker, Monet was experiencing her first in-the-flesh cowboy—and what a cowboy.
Stockman, Monnie. He’s a stockman.
She caught her bottom lip with her teeth again, the junction of her thighs doing a funky little twisty thing she enjoyed very much.
Man was correct. A beautiful man. A goddamn gorgeous, sexy man. Complete with a goddamn gorgeous body his faded jeans and well-worn flannel shirt couldn’t hide at all.
If it wasn’t for the fact he’d flown from Australia to meet her best friend, Monet could quite happily stand there and undress him with her eyes. Render him naked and imagine all the things a woman could do to a male body like—
She caught the wildly inappropriate thought before it could form a wildly inappropriate image in her wildly visual mind.
Just.
“Let me get this straight,” the Australian cowboy said, his light green stare doing all sorts of wicked things to Monet’s resolve. Even his eyelashes were perfect. She could imagine drawing each one in charcoal. Imagine even better the way they would feel against her lips as she—
“Annie flew to meet me in Australia yesterday, despite the fact I flew to the U.S. to meet her?”
Monet nodded. “You sent her an IM with flight details. Well, some flight details. The day, the airline, the arrival time. Although you were wrong by an hour on that last one. Her flight didn’t touch down in Sydney until—”
“Wait, wait, wait.” The cowboy’s confused frown grew deeper, his Australian accent turning the word into a drawling song Monet found quite enjoyable to listen to. “I IM’ed her about a Qantas flight to New York. The one I was thinking of getting. And then the next day I emailed her the actual details of the flight I’d booked a seat on.”
Monet blinked. Annie hadn’t said anything about the email. In fact, Monet had been sitting right beside her best friend when she’d bought her airline ticket to Australia, a Qantas flight touching down in Sydney on the day her online Aussie cowboy…friend…had told her. Surely Annie would have known he was flying over here? How could they get their wires crossed so badly?
She opened her mouth—to say what to the man, she didn’t know. Damn, what was his name? Annie had said it enough times over the last few months, but Monet shut her mouth again when the doorman of their building suddenly appeared at the cowboy’s side.
“Everything okay, Ms. Carmichael?” Tommy’s gaze flicked back and forth between the Australian and Monet. “Mr. Sullivan’s not giving you—”
Dylan Sullivan!
The cowboy’s name popped into Monet’s head, along with an image of a clean-shaven man without a hat smiling somewhat nervously into a camera.
Monet shook her head, unable to take her gaze from Dylan’s still troubled face. “Everything’s fine, Tommy,” she assured him, even as she compared the beautiful hat-wearing male before her, his stubble as sexy as his accent, his accent as mesmerizing as his eyes, to the clean-cut man in the photo on Annie’s laptop.
“Are you sure?”
She flicked Dylan a quick look, her pulse beating far too fast for her peace of mind. “I’m sure.”
“’Cause he was asking about Ms. Prince—”
“It’s okay.” She cut him off with a smile. “I know Dylan. We were just going to catch a cab to the gallery.”
Dylan blinked.
“Oh.” Tommy nodded. “In that case…” He stepped one foot off the curb and let out a sharp whistle.
Before anyone could say a thing, a taxi pulled to a quick halt on the road beside them.
Monet gave the doorman another smile. “Thanks, Tommy.” She opened the back passenger door of the cab and extended an arm toward the grimy interior. “After you, Mr. Sullivan.”
The brim of his hat cast his eyes in shadow, and for a brief moment Monet thought he was going to refuse. And then he gave her a loose, lopsided grin that made her want to grin back. “I take it the lovers sit between us?”
She nodded. “The lovers do.”
“It’s probably better you climb in first then, love.”
Her pulse fluttered, and for the first time ever, Monet found herself totally flustered by a man. Love. Who would have thought she’d get excited over an almost antiquated term. She despised pet names—no babes or hons or sweethearts allowed, thank you very much. But the term “love” coming from Dylan’s lips…
Her reaction to it was unnerving. The whole situation was unnerving. Annie on the other side of the world. Dylan here in New York. Her unexpecte
d response to the man.
She dove into the cab before Dylan Sullivan, her best friend’s would-be Aussie cowboy, could see the flush painting her cheeks pink.
Oh boy, this was…inconvenient.
Note from Mari and Lexxie
We hope you enjoyed this book, we’d so appreciate it if you’d help others enjoy it too.
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About Mari
Virginia native Mari Carr is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestseller of contemporary erotic romance novels. With over one million copies of her books sold, Mari was the winner of the Romance Writers of America’s Passionate Plume award for her novella, Erotic Research.
Connect with Mari online:
Twitter: http://twitter.com/MariCarr
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Join Mari’s Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/NmRGf
Visit Mari’s Website: www.maricarr.com
About Lexxie
Award-winning romance author Lexxie Couper started writing when she was six, and hasn't stopped since. She's not a deviant, but she does have a deviant's imagination, and a desire to entertain readers with her words. Add the two together and you get erotic romances that can make you laugh, cry, shake with fear, or tremble with desire…sometimes all at once.
Connect with Lexxie online:
Email Lexxie at: [email protected]
Twitter: http://twitter.com/lexxie_couper
Visit Lexxie's website at http://www.lexxiecouper.com, where she occasionally makes a fool of herself on her blog.
eBooks by Mari Carr
Visit Mari’s Website: www.maricarr.com
June Girls, a Time Travel/Historical Romance series
1. No Recourse
2. No Regrets
Farpoint Creek Cattle Station, a Contemporary BDSM Erotic Romance series
1. Outback Princess
2. Outback Cowboy
3. Outback Master
4. Outback Lovers
Madison Girls, a Contemporary Erotic Romance series
1. Kiss Me Kate
2. Three Reasons Why
Stand Alone Titles
Bound By the Past
Covert Affairs
eBooks by Lexxie Couper
Visit Lexxie’s website at
http://www.lexxiecouper.com
Stimulated, a Contemporary Romance series
1. Blowing It Off
2. Revving It Up
3. Switching It On
4. Plugging It In
Heart of Fame, a Contemporary Romance series
4.5. Compliance
5.5. A Single Knight
8.5. Combustible
9. Balls Up
10. Lust’s Rhythm
The Boundaries, a Science Fiction Romance series
1. Assassin
2. Agent
3. Animal
Savage Australis, a Paranormal Romance series
1. Savage Retribution
Fire Mates, a Paranormal Romantic Suspense series
1. Sera’s Dragon
2. How to Love Your Dragon
3. Crouching Tigress Horny Dragon
4. Scorched Desire
Dangerous Desires, an Erotic Contemporary Romance series
1. The Bad Boy Next Door
2. The Good Girl In My Bed
Stand-Alone Titles
The Stone's Soul
Shadow Whispers
Copping a Feel
Kat and Mouse
Mari & Lexxie recommend … Michelle Hoppe
Forever Caspia
Michelle Hoppe
Chapter 1
Shadows and darkness distorted the ghostly mast that jutted from the wooden deck, a lone sentinel standing guard over the broken ship. The Spanish galleon had come to rest on soft, white sand near a coral reef. A gaping hole in her side from cannon-shot was a testament to a long ago battle. The ragged edges of her broken timbers were worn smooth by the soft caress of warm Caribbean waters.
Barnacles covered much of her exposed surface, and schools of small, colorful fish swam in and around her shattered frame. Unseen in darker water, sharks waited just out of sight, swimming in circles. The sleek predators built their ravenous hunger into an overwhelming need before they darted in to capture careless denizens of the deep in their razor sharp jaws.
Just one month to go, Tiro thought. Damn this curse. He swam closer to the wreck—hiding behind wooden crates, a part of the old ship’s cargo—which had been carelessly tossed from the hold during a final plunge deep below aqua waters. With a javelin at his side, he watched the sharks circle the reef. Waiting for an opening, he flexed his fingers against the spear’s metal shaft, ready to launch the moment a sleek gray body glided close to his hiding place.
His gaze was momentarily drawn to a school of bright yellow Coney flying from the cargo hold, fleeing a large white-tip riding their wake from the bowels of the ship. Hundreds of small fish were devoured in a single sweep of the shark’s mouth before any were aware they were doomed.
Tiro’s hand clenched in anticipation, his body rigid and his muscles coiled to spring, when the seven-foot monster swam closer. Unaware death waited, the shark cut through the water with grace. Raising the spear to his shoulder, he waited, breath held. He drew his arm back, and then shot the javelin forward with great force. Slicing through water with deadly silence, the six-inch metal point cut into the shark’s thick scales and imbedded into its soft flesh. Blood poured from the wound, tainting the sea red. Swimming faster, the stricken shark tried to dislodge the painful intruder. A trail of red followed his path, closely pursued by his brethren waiting for death’s throes to take him before they devoured his flesh.
As the sharks moved from sight, his way clear, Tiro cautiously swam toward the ship. Skirting its side, he turned his head, scanning the open sea, checking for danger before he approached a fissure leading inside. With a kick of his fins, he cleaved through the water, moving from a world of color and light to dim, foreboding semi-darkness. Unable to see, he paused a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the diffused interior light. Many small creatures darted in and out of the crates and urns flung haphazardly about the cargo hold. Sea urchins filled every inch of the wooden core, their colorful appendages extended in hope of snaring small plankton floating past.
Moving toward an opening above his head, he passed from the cargo hold and into the heart of the old wreck. Stairs climbed skyward, leading to an upper deck. He opened the only door and swam into what could only have been the captain’s cabin. A large bed frame sat under curved windows. The glass was no longer there, but wooden mullions still stood strong. Ornate carvings covered the four-poster bed, and slips of gauzy material still trailed like spider webs where a canopy once draped for privacy.
A large table and six chairs waited in silence as if eager for the ghostly figures of long dead sailors to enter and pull them from their resting place. Inspecting the room, he realized it was perfect for his purposes. Smiling behind his mask, he departed the eerie wreck. Swimming with ease, he reached the surface and the boat waiting to take him back to Tortuga.
Chapter 2
Mark watched a body break the water’s surface near the boat. Tiro’s strong, steady strokes brought him within reach of a ladder in seconds. Mark waited while his brother climbed onboard and removed his mask and air tanks before asking, “Did you find it?”
“Yeah, I found it.”
Mark cocked an eyebrow. “And?”
&nbs
p; Tiro shrugged his shoulders. “And it’s perfect.”
“I told you it would work.”
Tiro flipped his wet fins in Mark’s direction. “Yes, you did. Do you want a prize?”
He swatted the fins to the deck before they could hit him in the face. “No, jerk. I’m just saying I was right about the wreck, that’s all.”
Unzipping his wet suit, Tiro changed the subject. “We’ll have to move the table and chairs outta there. Oh, and what’s your plan for those windows?”
It was useless to try and get praise from his brother, so he simply answered the question. “Board ’em up.”
“Covering those windows with wood will make the room very dark and frightening,” Tiro reminded him, tugging jeans up still-wet legs and butt.
“You’re not getting soft on me are you, big brother?”
Struggling to snap his jeans, Tiro reached over to punch his arm. “No, I just believe we can accomplish this faster if we try to make things comfortable, even a small comfort like the ability to see out of one’s prison.”
Mark huffed at Tiro’s continued attempts to toss obstacles in the way. “Installing bars isn’t gonna fly. They’re expensive and difficult to work with underwater. Glass breaks easily, so, damn it, our only option is boarding them up.”
Tiro exhaled with resignation. “I know. You’re right, I just thought—”
“Fuck, Tiro,” Mark interrupted. “The time for thinking is over.” He was tired of hearing Tiro bitch about a situation they could do nothing to change. “Look, we need to get this done. We’ve only got a month to break this curse, or our family is doomed to hell on earth forever.” Mark hesitated, noticing a dark shadow fall over his brother’s face.
“Maybe I don’t find it hell on earth.”
Outback Princess Page 13