Chapter 1
Whose stupid idea was it to make a Christmas pudding?Oh right, mine.For God’s sake, it was over thirty degrees Celsius in the shade, and the kitchen was like a bloody sauna. Perspiration beaded on Steve’s forehead, the slow circling of the ceiling fan overhead barely stirring the warm air. He tore a piece of paper towel from the roll in the dispenser and used it to dab his brow before chucking the crumpled wad into the bin and stalking over to the switch on the wall. He twisted the dial, smiling in satisfaction as the fan sped up and a gentle breeze wafted against his heated skin.
Steve had no doubt he looked terrible—hot and sweaty, with his face flushed and his brown hair plastered to the back of his neck. He really should have gotten a haircut before coming on this trip, but he’d had hardly had time to pack due to his work obligations, let alone the luxury of much other preparation for the week-long holiday. That’s what you got when your caring, don’t-take-no-for-an-answer friends dragged you out into the real world while your boss was breathing down your neck.
He washed his hands under the cool water from the sink, then tried to dry them on his cargo shorts. The beige shorts were covered in…What is that gross brown slimy stuff?He peered closer. Mushed sultanas by the looks of things. On further observation, his T-shirt hadn’t fared much better. Maybe he should have worn an apron, or at least made an attempt to wipe his hands on the tea towel and not his clothes. He shook his head as he spun on his heel and returned to the kitchen bench. It didn’t fucking matter; he had no one to impress anyway.
With a disgusted sigh, he went back to the task of mixing the dried fruit he’d been chopping and dicing for what felt like hours. Sultanas, currants, raisins—no wonder his shorts were so sticky—and green apples. He’d even chucked in a grated carrot as he followed his mum’s tried-and-true recipe. It was taken straight from theAustralian Women’s Weekly,and his mum had been making it for years, so how could it go wrong? At least, he hoped that would be the case. It’d piss him off if he went to all this effort and the Christmas pudding turned out like crap.
“What did whatever’s in that bowl do to you, Steve?” Malcolm asked from the doorway.
“What?” Steve gave his best friend a brief glance before turning his attention back to his ingredients. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The metal spoon dinged on the edge of the stainless steel bowl with each agitated rotation. Steve grunted as he put more elbow grease into the motion, ensuring each piece of fruit was liberally coated in brandy.
Malcolm walked closer and peered into the bowl of brown mush. “Are you mixing or pureeing?” He chuckled.
Steve stopped stirring and glared at Malcolm, suddenly aware of the ache in his hand and arm. Malcolm grinned back, his smile wide. Steve couldn’t help but mirror that open smile. Malcolm was a good guy, and maybe, just maybe, hewasbeing a tad aggressive with the mixture. Steve let go of the spoon, allowing it to clang against the bowl, and flexed his fingers to get the blood recirculating.
“Fuck. I need a drink.” He eyed the brandy bottle sitting on the kitchen bench, but in truth, he wasn’t really tempted to swig that cheap stuff.
“C’mon, take a break. Come outside and have a beer.”
“Yeah. Just give me a sec.” Steve tossed the spoon into the sink, then used some plastic film to cover his bowl and put it in the fridge to marinate overnight. He’d use the brandy-infused fruit the next day to make the Christmas pudding.
While the fridge was open, Malcolm snagged a couple of bottles from the door and headed to the deck. Steve followed, holding a bottle in each hand.
* * *
Steve let out another sigh, this time of relief, as he exited the oppressive heat of the house and stepped into the fresh air of the deck where the rest of the guys were already making themselves comfortable, as they’d been doing for a few hours.
Douglas and Matt, the only couple amongst them, were seated around the timber outdoor setting, empty bottles on the table in front of them. Malcolm passed out the fresh beers and grunted as he dropped into a chair. Ken was sprawled on the Balinese-style daybed, balancing a jar of salsa on his ample chest. The corn chips were in a bowl on the coffee table, well within reaching distance, and Ken was making a continuous circuit from bowl to dip to mouth. He stopped briefly to grab the beer Steve thrust his way, toasting with the bottle and nodding his thanks.
Steve had expected it to be cooler in the mountains, but it seemed they were having a hotter summer than usual. It was still warm, even this late in the afternoon, although there was a faint breeze that had started to cool things down. The temperature had thankfully dropped slightly from the heat of the middle of the day. Steve welcomed taking a break from cooking and leaned his arse up against the railing as he raised the bottle to his lips. The beer was cold and wet, and went down like a treat. At the first sip, some of his earlier tension started to melt away. Just being here, so far from the city and his usual routine, and knowing he’d have the week to hang out with his mates, was already working its magic.
“Holy shit!” They all turned at the exclamation, to stare at the slim figure framed in the wide doorway. “This place is freaking amazing, and the view is spectacular. It’s no wonder we’re paying a small fortune to stay here.” The owner of the voice laughed. “Just… wow.”
“Corey!” The name echoed as the guys greeted their late arrival.
Corey glanced around the group, a broad smile lighting up his face. “Hey, guys.”
Warmth snuck up Steve’s neck and touched his face as his gaze met Corey’s dark eyes. Steve nodded, suddenly tongue-tied as Corey moved closer.
“Holy shit,” Corey murmured again and stepped up to the balustrade near Steve.
Steve’s heart was in his mouth as he gazed at Corey’s outline framed by the spectacular mountain backdrop.Fuck, fuck, shit!He hadn’t known Corey was joining the group on this trip and had initially been relieved when he’d arrived and noticed Corey’s absence.Bloody Mal. He looked away from Corey’s cute arse to where his friend was sitting at the table. From the shit-eating grin on Malcolm’s face, Steve knew this was his doing.Fuck!Now Steve didn’t know if he was annoyed or excited, as his racing heartbeat could have been attributed to either.
Steve had known Corey for over a year and had thought he was gorgeous for just as long—something that had pissed Steve’s boyfriend, now ex-boyfriend, off. His stomach plummeted as he thought of Richard. He gave himself a mental kick.For God’s sake, it’s been months. This week is all about getting on with my life. Stop thinking about that arsehole.But forgetting the bad times was easier said than done.
Steve thought back to Richard and Richard’s reaction to Corey. In reality, Richard had no reason to be worried about Steve and his feelings towards anyone else. He loved Richard and that should have been enough. However, Steve had never been able to make Richard understand that just because he found another man attractive didn’t make Richard any less appealing. It was only natural to appreciate a good-looking man, but there was no fucking way in hell Steve would have initiated anything. Look but don’t touch was fine, but that was it. Steve had seen enough infidelity to know he could never put anyone in that position. Shame Richard hadn’t felt the same way.Arsehole.
Thoughts of Richard fled as Corey’s gaze met his again. He shot Steve a smile that went straight to Steve’s heart—okay, if he was honest, straight to his dick. He attempted an answering grin, then focused on lowering himself into a nearby chair to hide his unexpected arousal. A sideways glance showed him that Mal was still smirking.
Corey bounced on the balls of his feet and peered over the railing, then glanced back at the house, all the while talking. “What time did you guys arrive? It was a shit drive due to traffic, but not so bad once I got off the expressway. Worth it, though, from the looks of this place.” Corey was cheery for someone who’d just driven a two-hundred-and-fifty-kilometre road trip from Sydney to the Barrington Tops in holiday traffic.
“We got up here a coupla hours ago,” Douglas said. “Matt and I drove up with Ken.”
“And Steve and I arrived first thing this morning,” added Mal. “Steve was keen to get started on his soon-to-be-world-famous Christmas pudding.” He winked at Steve.
“Fuck off, arsehole,” Steve responded, laughter in his voice.
