Not with Little Miss Perfect, perched in the passenger seat like the upholstery might catch on fire.Her eyes on the road, and that notebook balanced neatly on her lap like it held state secrets.
He didn’t look.Not directly.
He didn’t trust himself to.
But again, thatscent.Soft, clean, and shower fresh.There was citrus and something else, like vanilla blossom, maybe.It was the kind of scent that didn’t belong out here, not with the bulldust and sunbaked leather.Yet, it wound through the troopy like it owned the space.
She flipped a page in her notebook, pen tapping thoughtfully, not looking at him as she spoke.‘Are you always this quiet, or is it just when you’re cornered?’
‘Nope,’ he grunted.‘Just tolerating the company… barely.’He shot her a sideways glance.‘Figured the quicker I got rid of you, the quicker I could breathe again.’
‘You offered to drive me.’
‘Yeah, well, I was raised right.Unfortunately.’Why did he have to be the good guy?Especially with the enemy.
She hummed under her breath.Some smug little sound that slid under his skin like a thorn.
‘You know,’ she said, flicking through that notebook, ‘for someone so allergic to being questioned, you’re not half bad at dancing around the answers.’
‘Must be all that time behind bars.Real educational.’
It was no secret he’d done time, but it shut her up.
For about three seconds.
‘Are you going to throw that at me every time I ask a question?’
‘Only if you keep pretending like you don’t already know the answers to your questions.’
That earned him a look, one that shouldn’t have made his chest tighten.
But it did.
Did he dare dig for details?Get under her skin and see what made her crack?
Challenge accepted.
‘Have you ever worked out bush before?’he asked, with just enough weight in his voice to sound interested.Just enough bait to test the waters.
She glanced out the passenger window to the stockyards, nestled on the other side of the railway line.‘Plenty of times.On my grandfather’s wheat belt farm.’
‘Wheat belts aren’t anywhere near the Territory.’
‘No, but it taught me where to stand when a crush of sheep come barrelling through a gate.’
‘Bet you stayed neat and tidy, and got no dirt on you.Scar-free.’
‘Is that why you’re so heavily tattooed?’Her voice, and that stare, were cold enough to frost the inside of the cab.‘To hide your scars?’
Everyone had a story behind their tatts.That was a given.Only one person knew his story.
‘Careful,’ he said, low and dangerous.‘You keep digging like that.You might not like what you find.’
‘That’s the thing about audits… They uncovereverything.’
Oof—she was good.She’d taken his little game of digging, and somehow she’d turned the spade and shoved it straight through his armour.
His jaw locked, a muscle twitching as his hands tightened on the wheel.He should’ve kept his mouth shut and made her walk to chase her silly receipts.
