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“And this is a problem because?”

“Drop it,” he said, sitting on the edge of the rug and hugging his knees to his chest. “You don’t see me asking you the number of guys you’ve been with.”

“That’s because there’ve been none,” I muttered, stomping toward the rug and hating that I was insanely jealous of the number of faceless women he’d probably had amazing, rampant, climb-the-walls sex with.

He sat bolt upright, like the Eastern brown snakes I feared, courtesy of Bluey’s descriptive lectures on our arrival, had bitten his ass. “What did you just say?”

“Nothing.” Me and my big mouth. As if an experienced guy like him would ever come near me now.

“You’re a
virgin
?” He made it sound like I was an alien.

“So what?” I thrust my chin up, trying to stare him down. “Not everyone can be a man whore like you.”

He winced and I was instantly contrite. “Sorry, that was out of line.”

“The truth hurts,” he said, picking up a loaf of bread and ripping great chunks off with his hands. “Not that I’m quite as bad as you make me sound, but I’m done with transient flings.”

“Too bad,” I said, deliberately droll, trying to get the conversation onto familiar teasing territory. “Would’ve been great to have an experienced guy like you take care of that little virginity problem I’ve got.”

His gaze locked on mine and I could’ve sworn I saw electricity arc between us.

“You’re not serious?” He stared at my mouth and I swallowed against the inane urge to leap over the picnic rug and kiss him.

“Deadly.”

After what seemed like an eternity but in reality couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, he swiped a hand over his face. Yeah, like that would wipe away the blatant yearning I’d just glimpsed.

“I’m not the guy for you, Jess,” he said, holding his palms out to me like he had nothing to hide. “I’m not worth it.”

“Do you actually believe that bullshit you’re spouting or is it just an excuse because you’re not really attracted to me?”

There, I’d voiced my number one insecurity when it came to guys, particularly this one. Was I attractive? I didn’t have big boobs or long legs or hourglass curves. I had brown hair, brown eyes and was average height. When I looked in the mirror, I thought I looked okay. Nice. Which was about as bland as anyone could get.

“You’re frigging nuts.” He leaped to his feet and started pacing, scuffing at eucalypt bark with his worn boots. “What you saw after I showered? A damn good indication how attractive I find you.”

Secretly thrilled, I shrugged. “Could’ve just been a physiological reaction. Don’t you wake up with it like that?”

He muttered, “fuck,” and continued pacing. “For someone who hasn’t been with a guy, you sure know a lot about our working parts.”

It was my turn to smile. Did he think I was that innocent he couldn’t call a cock a cock?

“So you do think I’m attractive?”

In response he stopped a good eight feet away, as if scared I’d suddenly launch myself at him. “I’m not discussing this with you.”

“Why?”

He pointed down below. “Because if we don’t stop talking about it, I won’t be able to get back on Dundee to make the return trip.”

I stared at the obvious bulge in his jeans. “Oh.”

“And in case you were wondering? I think that more than answers your question,” he said, sitting on the rug as far from me as he could. “I can’t even talk about being attracted to you without getting a hard-on.”

“Considering you won’t let me do anything about it, I guess we shouldn’t talk about it then.” I clasped my hands in my lap, the epitome of prim, when inside I was doing a happy dance.

A sexy, worldly guy like Jack was attracted to me.

Now I had to figure out how to change his mind about not coming near me.

JACK

I’m an idiot. A moron. A complete dickhead.

That’s the only explanation for continuing to hang out with Jess.

As if the horse ride two days ago hadn’t been torture enough. Physically, mentally and emotionally. It’s damn uncomfortable riding with a hard-on, as I’d discovered the moment she swung up behind me, wrapped arms around me, and hung on like her life depended on it.

I’d felt every little shift in position she made, heard every little sigh. And savored the illicit contact like a parched guy stumbling across a billabong in a desert.

For despite taking a blatant stand about us only ever being friends, I wanted that sweet, sexy girl with every cell in my horny body.

As if there weren’t enough reasons to keep my hands off, discovering she was a virgin topped my list of not getting involved. I was a bastard, but not so much of a bastard that I’d take advantage of her holiday crush.

I should’ve known. She wore that untouched air like her fine clothes. A hint of vulnerability beneath her sass. It was addictive.

And wrong.

Something I’d have to remember tonight, when I put myself through another torture session. Jess had invited herself over and I hadn’t had the heart—or the balls—to say no.

We should’ve been uncomfortable after our revelations on the ride. Instead, we’d spent the last two days hanging out when I wasn’t working. We’d talked about anything and everything from politics to religion to our favorite music. Which is what led her here tonight.

Jess was clueless about classic Aussie rock. I was going to indoctrinate her. My excuse; I was sticking to it.

A knock sounded at the door. “You in there, Cookie?”

That was another thing I liked but pretended not to. Having her call me Cookie seemed to solidify our bond.

“Door’s open,” I called out, waiting until she stepped into the shack before hitting play on my iPod.

I smirked as she jumped five feet when INXS’s Original Sin ripped from the speakers.

“That’s loud,” she mouthed, covering her ears with her hands.

“Only way to listen to amazing music like this,” I shouted, beckoning her in and kicking shut the door behind her. “You’ll see.”

“What?” She cupped her ear. “I can’t hear you.”

I grinned and cranked up the music, grabbed her hand and spun her around.

She laughed, a joyous sound that made my chest ache with wanting her, so I settled for working out my frustration by dancing like a crazy person.

I lost count of the number of songs we danced to, and I couldn’t help but admire a girl who matched me throughout Cold Chisel’s Khe Sanh, Daddy Cool’s Eagle Rock, and AC/DC’s You Shook Me All Night Long move for move. She jumped and shimmied and bumped with me through Skyhooks, Australian Crawl, Mondo Rock, Hunters and Collectors, and Midnight Oil. She didn’t know any of the songs but she didn’t care. She got into the spirit of music idols triple our age, until we could barely breathe.

Then Crowded House’s Don’t Dream It’s Over filtered through the speakers and I wanted to hit stop ASAP.

Slow dancing with Jess would kill me.

She must’ve seen the indecision on my face because she positioned herself between the iPod and me, ensuring I’d have to reach around her to shut the bloody thing off.

Then she went one step further.

She closed the distance between us, wrapped her arms around my neck and rested her cheek against my chest.

I couldn’t push her away.

I had no choice but to wrap my arms around her waist, rest my chin on her head and just
feel
. Feel her heart pounding in rhythm with mine. Feel her soft curves. Feel her hair tickling my nose. Feel like I could do this forever.

We swayed together and I wanted to imprint this moment on my memory. Did I feel like a needy chick? Hell yeah. But this girl was special and I may not get another chance to hold her in my arms like this. In fact, I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.

When the last haunting strains of Neil Finn’s voice faded, I eased back.

Our faces were so close. And damn if Jess wasn’t staring at me with blatant adoration, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted.

I wanted to kiss her.  I should kiss her.

But I’d sworn I wouldn’t give into mindless urges anymore, especially not with a girl who deserved so much more than I could give her.

“Thirsty?” I released her and turned away so I wouldn’t have to deal with the hurt in her eyes. “We worked up quite a sweat.”

She laid a hand on my shoulder. “Jack?”

I knew what she was asking. With that simple touch, she was asking what the hell was going on between us, but fucked if I could give her the answer she wanted.

“I’ll get us a couple of soft drinks, unless you prefer beer?” I stepped away and she followed me.

“Soda’s fine,” she said, sounding surprisingly calm when I half expected her to push the issue with the way we’d danced. “Now that you’ve educated me with your music, time for me to educate you with iconic romantic movies.”

“Chick flicks,” I said, sounding suitably disgusted, when in fact I’d watched a few and enjoyed them. Wasn’t much to do in the outback after dark so I went through DVDs like Mrs. Gee went through sugar. And I wasn’t ashamed to admit I sniffled during The Notebook, my closet favorite.

“Not
a
chick flick.
The
chick flick,” she said, as I returned to the pokey makeshift lounge room/bedroom to find her brandishing a DVD of Dirty Dancing. “Seen it?”

“What do you reckon?” I handed her a soft drink and grabbed the DVD while wrinkling my nose. “As you saw from my demonstration over the last half hour, I’m more of a slam dancing kinda guy.”

“Pity. Something tells me you’d be real good at dirty dancing.” Her gaze deliberately swept me from head to foot in a bold move that would’ve normally had me saying screw the movie and let me screw you.

Instead, I popped the DVD out of the cover and slid it into the player.

“No popcorn or chocolate?”

I glared at her. “I cooked you penne alla matriciana for dinner and you’re still hungry?”

“That pasta was superb.” She rubbed her stomach and I glanced away, instantly struck by how much I’d like to do the same. “But haven’t you heard? Women have a second stomach for sweets.”

“But you had a piece of pav too.” I loved her appetite. Nothing sexier than a woman who appreciated her food. And continually told the chef how great it was.

“Fine, just turn on the damn movie.” She folded her arms and pretended to sulk, which was exceptionally cute.

As long as the movie was all I turned on tonight.

Once I hit play, I sat. As far away from her as I could on the old plaid couch. I’d never cared how small the one room shack was before, but with Jess in it? Felt like the four walls constricted by the minute.

“God, I love this movie.” Jess sighed, and curled her legs up beneath her as she sipped from her soft drink can.

Her gaze was riveted to the small flat screen TV for the duration of the movie, while I kept sneaking glances at her. And all the while, that lilac fragrance she wore wafted over me. It probably clung to my skin; we’d been dancing that close. Just one more thing to torture me.

By the time the credits rolled, I knew exactly why she loved this flick.

Innocent teen falls for older off-limits bad boy. Yet they had a happy ending. Go figure.

“So, what did you think?” She half turned away from me, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her pinkies, before turning back.

“Not bad.”

“Not bad?” She screeched, swinging her arm wide to whack me in the chest. “That’s like me saying to you that your Aussie rock is reasonably okay.”

I clutched my chest and fell to the side like she’d wounded me. “You’re comparing AC/DC to Patrick Swayze?”

“Neanderthal,” she muttered, tilting her nose in the air in a pretend huff.

“You’re cute when you’re ruffled,” I said, gazing up at her from my semi-upside down position on the couch.

“And you’re obnoxious,” she said, an insult defied by her sliding a fraction closer so I had no option but to rest my head in her lap.

Bad move. Catastrophic move. Being so close to nirvana and not being able to go there.

“But I kind of like you anyway.” She ran her fingers through my hair, grazing my scalp, and a shiver shot through me. Who knew having her fingers in my hair could be so frigging erotic?

“Pity you can’t emulate Patrick.” She continued her rhythmic stroking and it felt so damn good I would’ve told her anything to have her continue.

“That’s fictional, sweet thing, and sorry to say, this bad boy isn’t about to turn good.”

She stopped, her hand resting on my forehead, like she was testing if I had a fever. “What if this good girl turned bad?”

That would be the ultimate turn on. Watching Jess shed her innocence and go wild. With me.  God, I could see it so clearly. I’d strip her naked. Lay her on my bed. Spread her legs. And go down on her. She’d taste divine. I’d lap and lick her until she screamed. Then I’d enter her. She’d be wet and tight. So tight…

Not. Going. To. Happen. Dickhead
.

So I did the only thing I could. Pushed her away. Again.

“I like you as a friend, Jess, but that’s it—”

“You’re so full of it.” She leaped to her feet so fast I got whiplash.

Rubbing my neck, I sat up, in time for her to shove me. “I’m sorry—”

“You can stick your apology up your ass.” She towered over me, hands on hips, chest heaving. “I know what you think of me, Jack. Shy little virgin dabbling in a holiday fling so she can tell all her college buddies when she goes home.”

She shook her head, but not before I glimpsed the sheen of tears. Fuck.

“But that’s not me, and I thought you would’ve figured that out during the time we’ve spent together. As
friends
.” She spat the last word as if it meant nothing. “Not that I think you know the meaning of the word, asshole.”

I watched her storm out of my shack, torn between wanting to run after her and turning up the music again so I could drown out my thoughts. The main one being, I’d fucked up majorly and it was a good thing.

So why did I feel so goddamn bad?