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I’d never been inside where Tom now slept and lived. When I stayed a few nights in the room next door, I could hear him moving about in his room, when he used the shower, boiled the kettle, typed on his laptop.
I thumped on his door and waited.
Something stirred under the stairs. A wombat peered up from a small burrow under a stump. It narrowed its eyes as if judging me before snuffling and waddling back into its burrow, having made up its mind.
I thumped on the door again and an angry grunt came from inside. I shifted from foot to foot, hands on hips. The wombat sprayed dirt and gravel over the stairs, and my shoes, cleaning out the depths of its burrow.
“Hey, watch what—”
The door yanked open, and a shirtless Tom stood in the doorway, squinting against the sun, hair scruffy, sweatpants hanging low on his hips as if he had just woken up and pulled them on. Was he wearing underwear under those sweatpants?
My eyes snapped back up to his face.
It didn’t help that I was much shorter than him and standing on a step lower than his floorboards. It put me practically eye-to-eye with his—No.
Eyes up—and big mistake.
He rubbed at his chest with a yawn. My mouth went dry. He was … sculpted. Muscle definition, no body fat; Tom was lean and strong. He’d been very attractive four years ago, but since then, Tom had worked hard.
He was beautiful.
I closed my mouth with a snap of my teeth.When did my mouth become open in the first place?!
Tom shook his head and put his hand on his hip. “What’s the—? Oh.” He straightened. “What’s wrong?”
“Sleep-in for you, huh?” From my long list of grievances with Tom, seeing him groggy from a sleep-in boiled my anger. “Some of us had to deal with a fire while you got your beauty sleep this morning!”
“Beauty sleep? I literally just got into bed.” Tom shook his wrist to roll his watch into his field of vision. The flex of his biceps and forearm muscles was distracting. “And what were you doing all night while some of us were saving our livelihoods? Huh?”
He stood there stunned, his eyes still hooded and half-asleep.
A memory came to me, hot and fast; my fingers threaded in his hair, climbing him like a tree. My legs had clamped around those hips of his and …he’d kissed me last night.
Tom finally snorted. “How wasyourbeauty sleep, Rosie?”
“What does that mean?” I pushed back my hair from my face.
How could he possibly know that I’d slept in?
Tom looked me up and down slowly with his sleepy eyes. “You look really good this morning, considering last night.” Before I could retort, he added, “Find the puke by your door? I never got a chance to clean that up, what with the fireIhelped to put out. Meant to leave a note.”
My mouth fell open again, and I quickly shut it.
“No.” Heat flushed up my neck and bloomed on my cheeks.
“Held your hair back.” Tom smirked. “Don’t you remember?”
I inhaled sharply. “Oh, I remember some things.”
Just not enough.
He’d taken me home and got me into bed.
But a memory of being pressed against the doorframe, his mouth on mine, the roll of his hips into my core, persisted.
I advanced towards him, making Tom retreat backways into the shearers’ quarters. “I remember you taking advantage of me,” I snarled. I may have flashed teeth.
Tom rolled his eyes and scrubbed his face again. “Rosie. You were trying to take advantage of every man at the pub last night. I drove you home and got you to bed. After you puked by your door.”
