Outback Sisters (30 page)

There were a few kids and a young family playing on the sand on the main part of the beach but Logan had told her to meet him further along, where they could have privacy. She lifted a hand to shade her face from the sun as she peered in the direction he'd indicated and only just made out the silhouette of a man a few hundred metres away. The figure turned towards her and as he lifted a hand to wave, all her anxiety, all her doubts about her clothes, her make-up, everything, evaporated. Every cell in her body tingled with awareness. She couldn't cross the sand to him fast enough.

Logan smiled as she approached and she almost stumbled at the sight of him in black cargo shorts and a greenish-blue T-shirt, a picnic rug at his feet, and an honest-to-God wicker basket sitting on top of it.
Swoon.

‘You came,' he said as he reached his hand out.

‘As if there was ever any doubt,' she replied, slipping her hand inside his, heat flooding her at the connection.

He pulled her against him, dipped his head beneath the brim of her sun hat and kissed her. It was as simple as that. And she kissed him back, because it felt more right than anything had ever felt before, as if her sole reason for being born was to kiss this man.

‘Why are you hiding all your gorgeous hair?' he asked, reaching under the hat to touch it when they finally broke apart.

‘It's a disguise,' she whispered with mock-seriousness, and his beautiful lips broke into a grin.

‘Ah, I see.' Then, ‘It's so good to see you.'

‘Ditto.' Her brain was still a bit scrambled from that kiss so a more eloquent description of how she felt was out of the question.

‘Are you hungry?' he asked, gesturing to the picnic rug and basket.

She nodded. Truthfully, she was only hungry for one thing but she didn't want to appear like a hussy.

‘In that case, take a seat.' With the hand that wasn't holding hers, he gestured to the picnic rug—a quaint tartan number that Frankie guessed had been in his family a while. Her family had never been the camping or picnicking type—like Simone, their mum Ruth had been single for almost as long as Frankie could remember and she'd never bothered much with outdoorsy pursuits. Visits to Aunty Esther and Uncle Dave's farm had been as close to nature as they'd got.

Getting comfy on the rug, she made a vow to herself that when she had a family, she'd take them on hundreds of picnics and they'd camp out under the stars and roast marshmallows on bonfires.

‘What are you grinning at?' Logan asked as he knelt down beside her.

‘Oh … just the beautiful day,' she said, nodding at the ocean. Probably too early to be telling him the truth—that she'd been picturing him with a little red-headed girl on his shoulders and a little boy that was the spitting image of him running ahead along the beach holding her hand. Didn't want to scare him off.

He followed her gaze, then looked back and smiled. ‘Nice, but I hadn't noticed because I was too busy looking at something even more beautiful. You.'

Although it was a cheesy line, it sounded anything but cheesy rolling from his lips. Her tummy flipped and her breathing quickened. Of course she blushed. ‘I bet you say that to all the girls.'

He shook his head and looked seriously into her eyes. ‘I'm not going to pretend I've been a monk since I broke up with my ex-wife, but I can honestly tell you that no other woman has gotten under my skin like you have.'

Her heart squeezed and she thought her eyes might leak.

‘Too full-on?' he asked with a sheepish grin.

‘No.' She leaned into him, stretched up slightly and pressed her lips against his. He kissed her back, lifting her hat off her head and sneaking his fingers up into her hair, pulling her closer. His caress on the back of her neck sparked shivers right down her spine and she moaned when he slipped his tongue into her mouth.

The sounds of the waves splashing against the sand disappeared as she cupped his cheek, loving the roughness of his jaw against her palm. His two-day stubble had to be the sexiest thing she'd ever seen or felt.

‘Anyone ever told you how hot you are?' Logan whispered, pulling back a moment to look at her before dragging her lips back to his.

Emboldened by his words and the heat in his eyes, she moved her hands lower, over the curve of his broad shoulders, coming to rest on his lovely biceps. She squeezed. They felt so hard and strong—much more like the arms of a man who worked outdoors than a journalist, but she loved that he did both. He was such a well-rounded individual.

And
such
a talented kisser.

Logan's lips trekked lower and her head fell back as he kissed her neck. She dropped her hands, palming them against the ground so as not to collapse under the sensations. Before she knew it they were both lying back against the picnic rug, snogging like a couple of horny teenagers, hands going everywhere, limbs entwined. Her heart was racing so fast she thought it might leap out of her chest at any moment—she had never felt such a burning desire to touch or be touched.

Logan, his body on top of hers, pushed himself up so his hands were on the rug either side of her head and he was staring down at her. ‘I should feed you.'

Frankie frowned, not giving a damn about eating, but then out of the corner of her eye, she saw two shadows walk by and thought maybe she should give a damn about the fact they were in a public place and this close to ripping off their clothes. With a sigh, she nodded, trying not to mourn the loss of Logan's body heat against hers as he rolled over and sat up. He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, his arm muscles flexing as he did so. Her pelvic floor tightened in appreciation. Telling herself she should sit up too, rather than lie there ogling him as though
he
were lunch, she forced herself into a sitting position and dusted off the sand that had somehow gotten on her clothes.

As Logan lifted the lid of the picnic basket, she did a quick scan of the beach, breathing a sigh of relief that she didn't recognise the passers-by. In the rush of hormones, she'd forgotten the need to lie low. She picked up her hat and jammed it back onto her head as he conjured a paper package, which announced itself as fare from the local fish and chips shop. Then he pulled out a bottle of pink bubbly—her favourite—and two glass champagne flutes.

‘Impressive.' She smiled, her mouth watering. So he hadn't cooked, but what could be more perfect than fish and chips on the beach?

‘I aim to please,' he said, as he laid the parcel between them and peeled back the layers of paper. He picked up a chip and held it out to her. She opened her mouth and took a bite, loving the intimacy of him feeding her. He popped the rest of the chip into his mouth and grimaced. ‘They're cold.'

She shrugged, laughing. ‘Not their fault.'

‘I suppose not.' He hit her with a smile that sent shivers spiralling through her body. Chris Hemsworth, move over; Logan Knight truly was the sexiest man alive.

She plucked another chip, eating it as he uncorked their drink and poured it into the two glasses. He smiled as he offered her one and their fingers brushed against each other as she took it. All she could think about was what it would feel like to have his fingers on other, more private, parts of her body.

Hopefully oblivious to her torrid thoughts, Logan lifted his glass and clinked it against hers. ‘To us,' he said.

She echoed his sentiment and then took a sip, loving the way the bubbles melted on her tongue.

‘Well, tuck in.' He gestured to the food. ‘I'm sorry I didn't bring any plates or anything.'

‘I think it's sacrilegious to eat fish and chips from an actual plate. They taste much better right out of the paper.' And to prove her point, she ripped off a bit of fish and popped it into her mouth. So, the chips had gone cold and the fish was no longer crunchy but nothing could ruin this moment.

‘Good?' he asked.

She nodded and then ripped off another piece and offered it to him. He ate it right from her fingers and she knew she'd never be able to eat fish and chips again without remembering this day.

They ate and drank, feeding each other and talking between mouthfuls. Frankie felt as if she'd known him so much longer than she had. Being with Logan just felt right, aside from one annoying thing.
Simone
. She sighed, wishing she could banish her sister from her mind, just for a few hours. There'd be plenty of time to feel guilty later, but right now, she just wanted to enjoy Logan while she had him.

As if a mind reader, he asked, ‘How's Simmo going?'

Frankie shrugged. ‘Hard to tell. I haven't seen much of her lately but she does seem a bit down. I guess it could be Harriet—she's being a right little shit at the moment—but I think she's more cut up about you guys breaking up than she's letting on.'

‘I'm sorry to put you in this position,' he said, reaching out and brushing his thumb against her cheek.

She caught his hand in hers and smiled back. ‘There's two of us playing this game.' And the guilt wasn't going to stop her. ‘I told her I was going on a date today.'

His eyes widened. ‘You did?'

‘Yep. She asked me to go visit Aunty Esther with her and I had to tell her I was busy.'

‘What exactly did you say?'

‘That I'd met someone on Rural Matchmakers and was meeting them for lunch. At least this way I'm partly being honest.'

‘What did she say?'

‘Oh, she and the girls were happy for me. They wanted details. I told them your name was Clive.'

‘What?' He coughed as though the last mouthful of his drink had gone down the wrong way. ‘Where did
Clive
come from?'

‘I dunno.' She gave him a sheepish smile. ‘It just popped into my head.'

‘Couldn't you have come up with something more macho?'

She laughed. ‘Like what?'

He thought a moment. ‘Like Jake, or Mitch, or Hunter. Hell, Bruce would be better than Clive. I don't look like a Clive, do I?'

‘No, I promise you don't. You're way better looking than a Clive.'

‘Why thank you.' He puffed up his chest, making her laugh again. Then he took her hand, his expression turning serious. ‘Try not to beat yourself up. We're not doing anything wrong here. Neither of us is seeing anyone else—and you just don't want to hurt your sister so are biding your time waiting for the right moment to tell her. You're a good person, Frankie. And a very sexy one as well.'

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help the glow she felt at his words. It was weird, feeling so happy and so reprehensible at the same time. ‘I just feel so guilty. I've never outright lied to Simmo before. If the girls hadn't been there, I might actually have confessed the truth but she and Harriet had just had this big barney over Harriet's hair and I couldn't bring myself to hurt her more.'

‘Harriet's hair?'

‘She dyed it blue.'

‘Holy shit.' Logan's expression said it all.

‘That was pretty much Simone's reaction too, multiplied by a hundred, with a few choice words thrown in for good measure,' Frankie said. ‘I've actually never seen her that mad before. She's grounded Harriet for a month.'

He chuckled. ‘I'll bet that went down well.'

‘Let's just say I don't think Harriet will be talking to her for a while.'

‘Poor Simone, she's got her hands full with that one, hasn't she?'

Frankie nodded and bit her lip. ‘But … let's not talk about Simone. I don't want to waste our time together.'

‘What do you want to do then?'

* * *

Frankie blushed and Logan couldn't help but imagine her thoughts. His had been along the same lines since he'd caught sight of her walking along the beach towards him in that cute floral sundress. He'd silently praised God for the beautiful September weather, making a picnic on the beach the perfect option. It was so much more intimate than sitting in a café with other people only a few feet away. But as much as he'd have liked to whisk her away and have his wicked way, she deserved better than a quick tumble in the dunes.

‘We could go for a walk on the beach,' she said eventually.

‘Sounds like a plan.' He pushed himself off the rug and then held out his hand to help her up. As she downed the last of her sparkling wine, he packed up their rubbish in the basket and folded the rug. ‘Let's just dump these in the ute first,' he suggested.

They walked hand in hand back to the car park and it felt so natural, as if they'd been together for a long time. His head was telling him to slow the hell down but his heart and body were ready to throw themselves off the deep end. If this were his brother or a friend telling him how they felt—not that blokes had touchy-feely conversations like that—he'd ask them what the rush was, predict that they were thinking with the wrong brain, but it wasn't like that.

‘Nice wheels,' Frankie said as they stopped in front of his 1970s Holden Kingswood ute.

‘Thanks.' He dumped the basket on the back tray and then ran his hand along the top of the cab. ‘It was my dad's.'

She reached out and took his hand again. ‘It's really nice that you have something so special of his. Was he a big car enthusiast?'

‘He was a Holden man—no-one in our family was ever allowed to buy a Ford or he'd disinherit them.' He smiled at the recollection. ‘His shed out the back was filled with Holden memorabilia. Mum wouldn't let him have any of it on show in the house. It's all still there. None of us have been able to bring ourselves to get rid of it.'

‘I can't imagine losing someone so close to me, never mind a parent.'

He nodded as they headed back towards the beach ‘It's tough. I'd just married Loretta and Angus was busy with Sarah. Olivia was still only little. We were all looking to the future and we didn't notice how depressed Dad had got.' He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, wondering if that guilt would ever ease.