Page 66 of Crossed Wires: The Complete Series

“Will you step under the light please, Dylan?”

For some stupid reason, Monet’s disembodied request made Dylan’s heart smack hard into his throat. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to immortalize you in art.”

Dylan couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from his chest. “Art?” He looked down at himself. “Will you call itThe Down Under Wonder?”

“Sounds like a perfect title.”

He scowled at the easel. “I was kidding, you know.”

“Shut up and stand in the light.”

He crossed the studio until he stood beneath the expanse of light spreading over floor. “How do you want me?”

“It’s not really safe for me to answer that question.”

Heat flooded Dylan’s groin. “I didn’t…ah fuck, that’s not what I meant.”

Monet’s head popped around the side of the easel and she smiled. “I know. Now just relax. Be natural.”

Dylan grinned, wishing like hell the urge to stride over to Monet and kiss her senseless would just bugger off. “Natural? Like this?” He assumed the position of Michelangelo’sDavid. “Or this?” He changed to that of Rodin’sThe Thinker. “How bout this?” he asked, moving into the famous Ancient Greek discus-throwing pose he remembered from his mum’s art books.

“How about you just sit on the stool?”

He laughed. “I can do that.”

He perched his butt on the edge of the high stool in the middle of the light, resting one heel on the lower footrest and folding his arms across his chest. “Better?”

“Mmmm. Where’s your hat?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “My hat? Don’t life-drawing models normally strip off their clothes, not put more on?”

It was a stupid thing to say. He was trying to be funny, to forget how much he wanted to bury himself in her wet heat and instead, he sounded like a desperate wanker.

For a long moment, Monet didn’t answer. Silence filled the apartment, the only sound the soft noise of New York on the other side of the window. And then he heard her let out a ragged breath and she was looking at him from beside the easel again. “Take off your shirt, cowboy.” She paused. “Please?”

Dylan’s pulse turned to a rapid hammer in his throat. He studied her, knowing what he was about to do was dangerous. Dangerous and dumb and wrong.

Wrong wrong wrong.

And he did it anyway.

Without bothering to unbutton his shirt, he hooked his fingers under the hemline and pulled it over his head.

The apartment’s cool air licked over his exposed flesh, pebbling his nipples to tight points.

He heard Monet suck in a swift breath.

He met her stare, the pit of his stomach clenching. “Okay?”

She didn’t answer. Just stared at him, her lips parted, her gaze roaming his chest, his torso.

And then she dipped her head in a single nod and stepped back behind the easel. “Tell me about Farpoint.”

The command was uttered on a husky breath. Dylan looked at the space she’d just occupied, wishing he could see her. “It’s been in our family forever. My great-great-great grandfather established it when the new Governor of New South Wales granted him the land back in 1815. Australia was still a convict colony back then and the British rulers were running out of food for the prisoners and settlers. Apparently he became one of the most successful station owners in the country within a year.”

“Only cattle? Don’t you Australians grow sheep as well?”

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