Man Drought (15 page)

‘Yes.’ He sounded exasperated.

‘Why?’ she asked, trying to get her head around his declaration.

‘Because I’ve been married before and there’s no way I’m going to let it happen again.’ His tone told her that was it – case closed, debate over before it had even begun – but she wasn’t giving in that easily. Not now the idea was starting to take root.

She smiled, courage building within. ‘That makes two of us.’

‘Good.’ He nodded, then seemed to realise she’d agreed with him. A frown creased his brow. ‘Um …’

‘I’m not in the market for another relationship either.’ She rushed to continue before he could say another word. ‘I’ve always believed in The One and Jamie was it. There isn’t room in my life for another love, and Lord knows right now I should be focusing all my attention on my new business. But,’ she shrugged, ‘I’m only human. I can’t help the fact I really want to jump your bones.’

‘Imogen!’ She didn’t think he was the type of guy to shock easily, but there was a gorgeous blush of red spreading across his otherwise tanned cheeks. She’d surprised herself too. She’d never in her life been so forthcoming about sex.

‘Yes, Gibson?’ She fluttered her eyelashes in a most uncharacteristic manner, resisting the urge to play dirty and lean in for another kiss.

‘Are you propositioning me?’

She thought he did very well to keep a straight face, but the twitch at the side of his neck told her he wouldn’t take too much convincing.

‘Yes.’ She hadn’t thought this through, but she answered before doubt had a chance to take hold. ‘It’s the perfect solution. You don’t want another relationship and I’m still in love with my husband, but there’s something between us. Something I’d like to explore. And I think you’d like to as well.’ She looked into his eyes, daring him to disagree.

He closed them and sighed, but the words that left his mouth moments later were a symphony to her ears. ‘Don’t say another word.’ He lifted his index finger to cover her lips. With one more glance round the side of the building, he turned back to her. ‘Make like you’re heading home, but meet me round the corner.’

Imogen nodded and then shivered as he turned away from her and hurried to his ute. She took a moment to collect herself, to ensure that when she stepped into view of the boot camp crew, they wouldn’t be able to tell what had happened by the expression on her face.

She waved across the field as she stepped into the guys’ line of vision. They waved back at her – happy and merry – and she hightailed it off the oval before any of them could get ideas about following her, or worse, offering her a lift home.

It was then, when she ran through the big metal gates of the oval, that the enormity of what she was about to do sank in. There’d been no misunderstanding – she and Gibson were about to do the deed, and right now she couldn’t summon any hesitation. She pounded the bitumen, pheromones running riot in her veins as she looked ahead for Gibson’s ute. And when she saw it, pulled over on the side of the road a couple of hundred metres from the oval, she called on energy reserves she didn’t think she still had and sprinted to meet him.

When she was about ten metres away, he leaned over and pushed open the passenger-side door. ‘What took you so long?’ Even before she saw his face, she could tell he was smiling. Knowing he used his smiles sparingly made her smile even more.

She slid into the seat beside him and tried to look disapproving as she said, ‘Some of us had to run.’

He laughed, stretched across her to pull the door shut and seized the opportunity to kiss her. Normally uncomfortable in confined spaces, she found the pressure of Gibson up against her anything but. Her breasts felt deliciously tight and heavy as his chest rested against hers and she met his lips with the same enthusiasm he showed for her. At the sound of a car approaching, they sprung apart. They both turned at the sound and then slumped into their seats when they ascertained the driver wasn’t a local.

‘No one can know about this,’ Imogen told him. She didn’t want word getting around and the locals thinking she was easy. Not when she’d worked so hard to appear professional and keep her distance.

‘Agreed,’ Gibson said, turning the key in the ignition. ‘I don’t give a damn what people think, but I don’t want Charlie getting ideas.’

‘Ah, yes.’ She thought back to the conversation where Charlie had voiced his hopes that his grandson would find love again. Guilt visited briefly but she banished it, telling herself that Gibson was a grown man and
he
wasn’t looking for love, so she was in no danger. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

‘Not far.’ He pulled onto the road and put one hand onto her knee. A few minutes out of town, he turned down a gravel road that looked as if it hadn’t seen travellers for decades. Dust flew as he tore up the road and then swerved quickly into a driveway.

‘Your place?’ she asked, her voice husky, all her attention on the hand inching up her thigh.

‘Uh-uh.’ He swerved again, bringing the ute to a stop under a couple of old gums. ‘It’s a deserted property. Bert’s place – old mate of Charlie’s. His kids are fighting over what to do with it.’

‘Oh. Good.’ From the inside out, every nerve ending in her body was burning with desire. She wanted what lay ahead more
than she’d wanted anything in quite some time, and patience had no part to play.

Gibson chuckled as he killed the engine, leaned towards her, unclicked her seatbelt and began to take delicious liberties with his hand.

‘Oh, I don’t mean “good” because his family’s fighting, I mean—-’

‘Shut up, Imogen!’ His voice had an edge as his fingers slipped under the cotton of her shorts and her heart shuddered in her chest. Her knees fell apart of their own accord and she didn’t think herself capable of further speech anyhow, but he made certain, leaning in to finish the kiss they’d started at the oval.

She opened her mouth, welcomed him, met him, teased him, teased herself. She caught her hands in his hair, explored the skin at the bottom of his neck and found she needed more. Much more. They were twisted to face each other, the gearstick rammed up between them. Discomfort didn’t enter the equation but she needed no obstructions. Shooing his hand away for a second, she climbed across the shifter and positioned herself on top of him.

His erection was obvious against her thigh, pressing into her, sending her wild with lust as she imagined it inside her instead. As she leaned close to resume their kiss, he tugged a lever under his seat and pushed it back, taking her with him, so they were almost flat and she was lying on top. He touched her chin, forced her to meet his gaze.

He was smiling – the brightest, biggest, most natural smile she’d ever seen on him. The closest was when he’d delivered Amy’s baby, but that smile hadn’t been for her.

His grin was like an aphrodisiac, not that she needed anything of the sort. Unable to play coy or control her hormones any longer, she boldly slipped her hands under his t-shirt. His sensational stomach muscles contracted beneath her touch. He sucked in a breath. ‘I’m sorry, I’m all sweaty.’

‘So am I and I don’t give a damn.’ She yanked his top hard, tugging it up and over his head, ditching it on the passenger seat before pressing a kiss to the hollow at his neck. He whistled low. She kissed lower, exploring every inch with her hands. Licking his skin, tasting salt, never imagining sweat could be so enticing. And then his thumb was on her chin again as he gently lifted her head and forced her to look at him once more.

‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ he asked, his voice low and strained.

‘What?’ She focused her eyes back on him, anxious for a moment. ‘Yes. Do you?’

‘Stupid question.’

And then he lowered his hand, easing it down her neck, raking his fingers over her breasts, making her nipples rock hard. Just when she thought her veins would explode with the need pulsing through them, he ventured lower. Overdosed on anticipation, Imogen’s insides clenched as he reached the waistband of her shorts. And then she couldn’t think anymore.

Somehow, despite the confines of the cab, they managed to rid each other of every scrap of clothing. His fingers slipped between her thighs again, cupping her crotch, and she almost collapsed against him. Need crept into her bones, right to the marrow.

‘Steady there,’ he said into her ear, before starting things that didn’t steady her at all.

As the first wave of orgasm reared up inside her, Imogen gave herself over completely to the delicious sensations that had been absent from her life for far too long.

Was this how it felt to be alive?
As Gibson drove back towards the pub, he glanced over at Imogen. She met his eyes and her grin lit a face still flushed from their shenanigans. He wanted to pull the ute off the bitumen and kiss her all over again.
More
. He couldn’t recall his heart beating so fast and he thought he could survive on the euphoria of their encounter for days.

The silence wasn’t awkward, but he wanted to talk to her, only, he couldn’t think of anything to say.

As they neared town, she ran her hands through her hair. ‘Can I borrow the rear-view mirror?’ she asked, angling it towards her before he could reply.

‘Jeez. I look terrible.’ Her eyes widened in horror, but he didn’t see what she saw.

So her hair looked like a bird’s nest and her face like she’d just run a marathon; all he saw was energy and beauty. The fact he was solely responsible for the look made him feel cocky, not apologetic.
Still, he wasn’t a complete cad. He pulled over to the side of the road and leaned across to dig around in the glove box. He retrieved an ancient comb and a packet of fresh wipes his mother had given him so long ago that they’d probably dried out.

‘You look beautiful,’ he said, offering her his finds, ‘but these might make you feel better.’

She smiled wickedly. ‘Oh, I feel just fine, but the bed-hair look has never suited me.’

‘I dunno.’ He lifted his hand and ran it through her hair, his fingers jamming in the beautiful mess. ‘I think you could be the poster child.’

She snorted and proceeded to attack her hair with the comb. ‘You know, when we met, I’d never have imagined you had such cheesy pick-up lines.’

‘Cheesy?’ He pressed his hand against his heart. ‘I must be out of practice.’

She giggled and then turned back to the task of fixing herself up. Smiling, he turned back onto the road and drove towards the pub. Parking out the front meant he couldn’t lean over and kiss Imogen goodbye, but a simple ‘bye’ didn’t seem adequate.

‘I’ll see you later,’ was what he finally settled on.

‘I’ll look forward to it,’ she promised as she opened the ute’s door. ‘See you soon.’

He didn’t watch her walk inside, wanting to drive off before anyone caught him looking, but that didn’t mean she left his thoughts.

Gibson drove back to the farm, showered, shaved and checked on his sheep, but no matter how he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about Imogen. The way she’d flirted, the feel of her skin against his,
the look in her eyes when they were done. It was obvious she’d enjoyed being with him as much as he had with her, but the more he went over it in his head, the more he realised what a massive step she’d taken.

He was the first person she’d slept with since her husband died. Was she really okay with that?

Suddenly unsure, he reached for the phone to call her and then realised he didn’t have her mobile number. He couldn’t phone her at the pub. That would start tongues wagging in a way neither of them wanted.

Maybe it was just that he wanted to see her again, but he couldn’t ignore the unsettling feeling growing inside him. Grabbing the keys, he got back in the ute and headed back to town, figuring he could get some lunch while at the same time checking she was okay.

Despite none of her employees seeing her return, Imogen felt like a teenager slinking back home after a naughty night out. Fifteen minutes after Gibson dropped her off, she stepped out of the shower and the reality of what they’d just done together hit her like a cold fish to the side of the head. Realisation slammed her conscience as a zillion emotions swirled and crashed in her stomach. If her body wasn’t still thrumming from his touch, she wouldn’t have believed it had happened. She wasn’t the type of girl who had sex in cars, especially not with men she’d only just met. Okay, so technically it was a
ute
, and she’d known Gibson a month or so, but what was she thinking?

Trembling, she pulled the towel tight around her body and walked straight past the mirror, not daring to look into it for fear of what she’d see. Of whom she’d see looking back.

Last night she’d been a faithful widow. This morning, she was someone who’d just had animalistic monkey sex with a virtual stranger. And she was mortified.

Her sordid actions repulsed her. But walking out of the bathroom and into the bedroom wasn’t any better – smiling at her from the bedside table was Jamie. For the first time ever, the sight of his carefree, boy-next-door smile made her feel physically ill. Clutching her stomach, hoping to ease the sensation that someone had planted a brick there, she dropped onto the bed and stared at the blank ceiling.

How could she face Gibson after this? What would she say if he expected an encore? If only she could think of a way to turn back time.

Minutes passed, and then her mobile phone began to buzz from its position next to Jamie. At the sound, Imogen startled so much she banged her head on the back of the bed. ‘Ouch.’ When usually she’d simply curse and whine at being such a klutz, this time tears spouted. Rubbing her head, she leaned over and peered down at the caller ID: Jenna.

Ignoring the call, Imogen rolled over, peeled back her doona and snuggled underneath. In a way, this was all Jenna’s fault. She’d encouraged her, put the thought into her head that sex could be kept separate from anything else. Jenna would scream and giggle on the other end of the phone. Jenna, who viewed sex on a different level to Imogen –
that
Jenna would see this situation as fabulous.

But there was one thing Jenna didn’t understand. Having never been in love herself, she didn’t know that true love lasted a lifetime and surpassed all sorts of boundaries, including death. She didn’t understand that although her body might be craving intimacy with a man, Imogen didn’t
want
to feel such things. Because what did that say about her love for Jamie?

She only realised the phone had stopped ringing when it started
up again. Assuming it was Jenna, she went to press the button that would signal her as busy and saw it was one of the staff calling from downstairs. Frowning – they’d never called her mobile before – she wiped her eyes, sucked in a deep breath and pulled herself together enough to answer it.

‘Hello?’

‘Are you getting a cold?’ Cal’s accent made her immediately recognisable.

‘No,’ Imogen replied, and then decided that was a better idea than further questioning. ‘I mean, yes, I think I might be.’ She sniffed for effect. ‘What’s up?’

‘Oh, sorry, I hate to bother you when you’re sick, but the truck hasn’t turned up with the grog delivery.’

‘The alcohol?’ Gathering her towel around her again and holding it with one hand, Imogen forced herself out of bed.

‘Yes,’ Cal said.

Damn
. Imogen rushed to her tallboy and picked up her watch. It was almost midday. The pub would be opening any second, her delivery was supposed to have been here over an hour ago, and where had she been when she should have been downstairs getting ready? Frolicking on some deserted farm with Gibson Black. Shameful heat rushed to her cheeks. She’d barely been in Gibson’s Find a month and already she was allowing distractions to take precedence.

‘I’ll be down in a minute.’

‘I’m so sorry to have bothered you. Karen’s here cleaning. She and I can open up. And I’ll call the delivery company and see what’s happening. Go back to bed if you’re sick.’

Cal was a sweetie. But her kind heart was misdirected here. Imogen didn’t deserve sympathy. ‘I’m fine,’ she told her. ‘See you soon.’

After disconnecting, Imogen threw herself into the task of dressing. Following black trousers and a dusky-pink shirt, she
carelessly applied a layer of foundation and lip gloss, and then hurried downstairs.

The next half hour was spent ear to phone as she tried to find out why her fortnightly delivery of alcohol had gone AWOL – apparently to some pub up north instead of to her – and what the transport company was going to do about it. What would usually be a disaster – she didn’t want to be the proverbial pub with no beer – became something to throw her energies into, something to keep her mind from fretting over other things.

‘It’s all sorted,’ she announced, feeling pleased with herself when she came back into the bar following the phone calls. The words had been for Cal, but Cal was nowhere to be seen. It was Gibson standing behind the bar – a picture of self-confidence, oozing happiness and sex. He glanced sideways at her and winked as he leaned over a beer tap, pulling a glass for a patron she didn’t recognise.

A chill shot down her spine. Didn’t he have a farm to run? More to the point, what was he doing behind her bar, serving? Imogen closed her mouth and gritted her teeth, not wanting to grill him in front of the customer. Not wanting to think about the feelings his mere presence erupted deep inside her.

‘There you go,’ Gibson said, handing the man his beer and taking a ten-dollar note in return. He passed the money to Imogen who, still on edge, entered the sale into the cash register and conjured the change.

She was both glad and annoyed when the man took his glass and wandered off towards the pool table. Glad because she wanted to confront Gibson alone; annoyed because her hormones couldn’t be trusted. Flummoxed by both emotions, she turned away. Maybe if she went about her business and pretended he wasn’t here, he’d get the message and go. Childish, yes, but she didn’t know what to say or how to face him. How could she have acted so wantonly? How could she have enjoyed it when the only person she’d ever
slept with before him was Jamie? It should have been awkward, uncomfortable, but … oh Lord, it was anything but!

She had to do something to make it up to Jamie, to ease this feeling that she’d betrayed him, and if that meant ignoring Gibson Black, so be it. He’d managed to do a perfectly good job of ignoring her the first few weeks of their acquaintance.

That decision made, she could have kissed Cal when she sauntered back into the bar from the direction of the restrooms a few moments later. Surely Gibson wouldn’t say anything suggestive with one of her employees present.

‘Thanks Gibson.’ Cal smiled at Gibson as if he’d rescued her from a deserted road on a cold, stormy night, then she looked to Imogen. ‘When a girl’s gotta go, a girl’s gotta go. Luckily, Gibson walked into the bar at just the right moment.’ Cal beamed at him again. Imogen glared.

He shrugged, but his smile dimmed as he registered her expression. ‘Happy to help. I’ve watched Granddad do it enough times.’

Dammit, she was going to have to thank him otherwise Cal would start to wonder what was wrong. ‘Thanks,’ she all but grunted.
Thanks for leading me astray and luring me places I didn’t want to go
.

‘No worries.’ Gibson toyed with the watch at his wrist and stood there lamely, as if he didn’t know what to say or do next. Well, that made two of them.

As if sensing their unease, Cal glanced between the two of them, frowned and shook her head before turning and charging towards the kitchen.

‘Look, Imogen,’ Gibson stepped closer the moment Cal was out of earshot.

She jumped back and held up her hand to stop him, widening the distance between them as if he were a physical threat. ‘Please. Don’t.’ Talking about what they’d done would make it even more
real. Simply looking into his eyes brought all the memories rushing back and right now, she couldn’t handle them.

‘But Imogen, we have to …’

‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘We don’t.’ She fought the urge to put her hands over her ears so she wouldn’t hear anything else he might say. She could barely bring herself to look at him, but hearing his voice – so calm, so gentle, so different from the tone he used to use with her – made everything even worse.

He stilled, his eyes searching her face, sadness and resignation eventually reigning while hers remained blank and cold. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘We’ll talk later.’

‘Maybe,’ she managed to reply, although the word was barely audible and her whole body trembled with the effort. Maybe she’d be able to talk about this in time, but right now all she could focus on was self-loathing and regret.

It took all Gibson’s willpower to turn away from Imogen and walk out of the pub. The way she was acting right now – as if she couldn’t bear to look at him, never mind be in the same room – told him everything he needed to know.

Regret was plastered all over her face.

And the realisation made him feel like the flystrike he’d been checking his stock for. Dammit, he should have steered clear, stayed firm in his resolve not to touch her. But when
she’d
propositioned
him
, he hadn’t been able to help himself. He swallowed at the recollection. Considering he’d just experienced the best sex of his life, Gibson had never felt so crap. He wanted to turn back, to reach out to Imogen again and try to fix his mistakes, but the way she’d flinched from him moments earlier stopped him.

How could things go from so right to so wrong in a matter of
hours? He wanted to push it. He wanted to make her talk about the feelings that were troubling her – he’d bet top dollar that number one was guilt, which she had no need to feel – but he didn’t want to widen the gap between them any further.

For a short window of time, he’d been on top of the universe, thinking he’d found the perfect woman – one who wanted his body, wanted the pleasure he could offer, but didn’t want commitment he couldn’t give. Of course it was too good to be true. He had to accept that Friends-With-Benefits were fictional things. In real life, you couldn’t have sex without complications. At least, women couldn’t.

Although it killed him to go, he accepted that Imogen needed time and space. He’d give it to her today, maybe even tomorrow if she still insisted on it, but he wouldn’t be a stranger in the pub anymore. He wouldn’t change his plans, wouldn’t alter his visits to Charlie just because being near him made her uncomfortable. Avoidance hadn’t worked the first time round and he could see no reason it would work better now. Gibson’s Find was a tiny town and, despite his initial assumptions, neither of them were going anywhere fast.