Her brows rose, her hand stilling. “And where did you learn all that?”
“Oxford. School of Business. Some of it. The rest of it is living out here. There’s some that respond to reason, some that respond to force. The wise leader is one that figures out how much of each to use depending on the situation. And also the one who listens to wise counsel”—he grinned, saluting her with the beer—“and doesn’t get sidetracked by the opinions of lazy bludgers.” In his current position, he was half turned toward her, knees splayed and one boot hooked on the bottom rung of the stool. Such that when she turned more toward him now, her knees were between his, making their posture far more intimate. He could almost feel the warmth of her body emanating toward the strained seam of his trousers.
He wet his throat again. Beer had never tasted so good, nor could he remember ever feeling so quickly parched. “So you own one of those huge stations that take up half the grazing area of Western Australia?”
“It’s just a bit of brick and tile and land.” She shrugged. “You said I owe you a dance. You going to make good on the claim?”
“When I’ve a mind to.” Which was right now, if he was being entirely truthful. Because if she kept her hand on his leg, he was going to slam her down on the bar and fuck her right there, until Elle had to shoot him like a bull gone mad with the heat.
Setting down the beer, he rose, shrugged his shirt back on but left it open. Then he put both hands to her waist to lift her off the stool. She’d made her interest clear, and he was fast losing the mood to play games. When she bumped against him as she stood, he didn’t mind the contact, but slid an arm low around her hips to move with her to the open floor near the jukebox.
As they reached it, he took a quick glance to make sure his swag and rifle were still in his sight.
“Afraid I’m maneuvering you over here to have my men take your treasures?” she observed.
“There’s only one thing going to be taken tonight, love.” He couldn’t help the underlying demand to the tone, or how it deepened as her blue eyes sparked in reaction. “You want to keep it safe, you’d best take yourself off soon.” She turned on the ball of her foot, moving back toward the bar. Dev didn’t think, just caught hold of her arm, stopping her so they were shoulder to shoulder, him facing one way, her the other, but such that when she tilted her face up to his, there were only inches between them.
He wasn’t one of those dickheads who wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’d been without for quite a while, but he’d cut off his own balls before forcing a woman, no matter how loose she was. But it was as if her proximity had touched something even deeper than his eager body, and he was having a hard time remembering what was proper behavior. He didn’t want to chase her off, despite his challenge, but it was only with considerable effort he was able to keep his grip firm, not bruising.
When she looked at his hand and then back up at his face, he saw something in hers that made his need even worse. Desire, goaded by his unplanned and possessive act.
“I’ll be right back,” she said softly. “I promise.”
He let her go with reluctance. She did return a blink later with the rag from the bar, despite Elle’s unfriendly look. Lady Daniela lifted it, that mysterious smile playing on her lips like the shadows playing among the lush mystery of a rainforest, concealing all manner of hazards among its beauty.
“You warned me if I was going to cuddle up to a bushman, I might get dirty. Thought I’d take care of some of the grime.” Laying the cloth on his chest, she began to rub slow circles. Damn if she didn’t tease a nipple with her clever fingers buried in the rag as she passed over it. His hand flexed convulsively at his side. “Plus I thought this cool cloth might feel good to you.” It did, primarily because she was the one wielding it. He couldn’t imagine feeling the same way if Elle was swiping it over him like she would a dirty table. Of course, he’d never seen Elle wipe down a table the way this one did, following every contour of him intimately.
“God, you are something else. I bet the girls want to eat you alive.” She lingered over the smooth flatness of his pectorals, the ridges of his sectioned abdomen, the curve of biceps. Dev knew he was in fighting shape because of the life he led, but having her appreciate it so openly, in such a tactile way, made him want to exercise some of that strength now. Put her under him, spread those slim legs and plow her like a wheat field.