‘Could work.’Porter nodded, all serious, too.‘It’d be that damsel in distress, outback edition.Throw in a fainting spell, and we’ll have a chopper here in no time.’He even clicked his fingers.
She straightened out the long skirt, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her play along.But damn if the plan didn’t make sense.
And damn him more for knowing it.
‘Until then, I’m not letting you ruin that ballgown,’ he said softly.
‘Right,damsel in distress rescue beacon, coming right up.’She fluffed up the layers, the dust coming off them in waves.
It made Porter step away, leaving her perched on a rock, like some dust-caked scrub fairy who’d well and truly missed her bush ball.
‘And look…’ He paused, exhaling heavily.‘I should’ve said it sooner, but I didn’t think you wanted to hear it before.’
‘Hear what?I remember your rule:must actually listen.’Not that she remembered what number rule it was, but she’d hoped the joke would lighten the tension between them.
Yet, the way he looked at her—no one had ever looked at her like that, as if they truly could see beneath her dusty mask.
‘You looked truly beautiful tonight.Even if it wasn’t a date… I’d never been prouder to be seen with a woman like you on my arm.’His voice dropped, roughening a little as if filled with grit and pure emotion.‘So… thank you for that small gift of letting this blue-collar bloke get a glimpse of your world.’He shrugged, barely.‘Just so you know, you’ve always looked beautiful to me, even without the flashy gown.’
Her heart caught somewhere behind her ribs.
She wasn’t used to hearing anyone speak about her like that.Especially words from someone who saw past the polish, past the rules, and still meant every word he’d said.
She opened her mouth.Closed it again.
The sweep of emotion hit hard and tender and yet it was terrifying, like she’d just stepped off a ledge.She wanted to hug him, to have him hold her.Just once.
But if she moved from this rock, she’d fall.
‘You didn’t look so bad yourself,’ she mumbled.‘Even in that ugly tie.’
His chuckle was low.
‘Now c’mon.We’ve got a long walk and a sunrise coming.’He turned around, stepping back to her.‘Up you get.’
She sighed, gathering up the many layers of her gown, then climbed onto his back, wrapping her arms around his strong shoulders, allowing Porter to carry the burden—not just that of the trek ahead, but of the mistake she’d made that got them here.
Thirty-one
He’d been at it for hours, as Amara’s words vibrated against his back, as she yakked on about paperwork, what Lydia had told her at the ball, and other things.
Porter had no interest in talking about work, except to admire the soft tone of her voice against his back, as he carried Amara across the wilderness where crickets stirred in the dry grasses.A curlew shared its eerie, mournful cry in the distance.And a few wallabies stared at them from a safe distance.
Her arms were loosely looped around his shoulders, her breath warm against the back of his neck, and even though they’d both endured a dust bath and were fighting the grit and sweat, he still smelled her signature scent of subtle grandmother floral soaps and peaches.
‘Do you like peaches?’
‘Huh?’
‘You know, the fruit.’
‘I do.’She sighed.
‘The fruit or the scent?’He liked that scent on her.
‘Both.And their blossoms.You can’t grow peaches up here, can you?’
‘Dunno.Never tried.’He wasn’t a farmer.
