Page 94 of The Science of Attraction

I lowered my lips to that beautiful mouth, stretched my body on top of his, and lost myself in everything Jules—the taste of him, the feel of him beneath me, the way his hungry hands travelled my body, the soft sound of his pleasure at simply having me in his arms.

“You brought your guitar,” I said breathlessly when we finally pulled apart.

“I find a quiet woolshed at night pretty inspiring.”

I rolled off him to the side and he followed until we were facing each other. “And the sheep agree?”

He huffed. “They haven’t complained yet.”

“Come on then.” I reached behind and handed him his guitar. “Play something for me.”

He groaned. “And I was having such a nice time.”

I simply waited.

“All right then,” he grumbled, wriggling to a sit, and shuffling back against the railing.

I scooted alongside and leaned my head on his shoulder. He turned and kissed the side of my head and then began to play.

In just a few seconds I was adrift in the rich timbre of his voice as it rose and fell, turning my heart in slow spinning circles, the rest of the world lost to this single moment, this one place.

One song bled into two, then three.

If you’d told me back in August, that by the end of October I’d be snuggled up to a hot, closeted guitar-playing shepherd in a woolshed in the Mackenzie at two in the morning, freezing my balls off after feeding an orphan lamb while worrying we were going to be caught by his homophobic father, I’d be booking you into the nearest treatment centre and throwing away the key.

And yet there I was. Therewewere.

Around the fifth song, Jules put down the guitar and pulled me to my feet. Then he took me in his arms. “Dance with me.”

“Here?” I glanced around the woolshed, the large space ripe with the cloying scent of animals, manure, and hay.

“Yes.” Jules pulled me tight against his body. “Here. I want to dance with you.”

And the stupidest grin in the history of the world stole over my face. “Well, if you insist.” I kissed him softly, rested my head on his shoulder, and felt the thud of his heart beating against my own.

No band, no candles, no fancy dinner or promises, just the two of us swaying in a dark woolshed to an audience of sheep, Jules humming “Unchained Melody” in my ear, and our bodies moving in tandem across the boards. It was the most romantic damn thing I’d ever done in my life.

And as we danced, Jules’ lips found my throat, his hot hands snaking under my shirt to lie firm against my back, keeping me close. My arms circled his neck, my legs straddling his, the slow rocking of our bodies sliding into a delicious to-and-fro grind that had no destination, just this low-grade arousal and the pleasure of being in each other’s arms.

The pleasure of being us.

Sometime around three, Jules led me back to our makeshift bed and drew me down beside him, spooning me from behind and pulling a blanket over our tangled bodies. He planted a kiss to the back of my neck and told me to sleep, that he’d wake me before dawn. I wrapped my arms over his and relaxed, soothed by the heat of his body against mine.

But it was Jules who fell asleep first, his breathing slowing to a rhythmic in-and-out slide while I contemplated a future very different from the one I’d planned for most of my life. He hadn’t been asleep long when it occurred to me that I hadn’t told him about my idea for the two of us moving forward. Jules had that effect on me. The ability to make everything else in my life fall away. But there was always tomorrow.

I rolled and wrapped my arms around the warm belly of the man who’d stolen my stubborn heart and refused to think about how I was going to hold on to him. No answers came, and weariness eventually took hold. The rustle and scuffle of the lambs and ewes was lost to the darkness, and the rough scrape of the woolshed door and the jangling rattle of its latch as it closed, quickly faded into a dream.

CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR

Jules

“Jules, baby, wake up.”A pair of warm lips pressed against my shoulder. “I need to head back to the cottage.”

I blinked slowly awake, stretching, then rolling over to face Liam who’d somehow traded places with me as we’d slept. “Whassatime?”

“Quarter to five.” He kissed me on the lips that time and I slipped a hand around the back of his neck to hold him there, to hell with the sour note of shared morning breath. He pulled away, grinning. “Come on, lazybones. The others will be up soon.”

He got to his feet and offered me his hand. I took it, feeling my bones creak as I straightened my back. “Damn, that floor never gets any softer no matter how much hay you spread.”

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