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Jasper scowls, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. “Trevor’s wife had to have an emergency caesarean. Apparently, large heads run in Trev’s family. He won’t be back today.” He seems to realise how his statement sounded. “The good news is, mother and baby are both doing well. Oh, and the dealership in Mildura has a windscreen, so when Trevor comes back tomorrow, we should be on our way quickly.”

I’m not delighted I’m going to have another sleepless night, thanks to my thinking, not his snoring, but I am happy Trev’s wife and baby are okay. “Girl or boy?”

Jasper looks surprised for a nanosecond. “Oh. Boy. They’re naming him Trevor. After his father. As one would.” Our gazes connect and hold for several beats before we both burst out laughing.

“Trev Junior. Nice. I wonder if Trev is anything like his brother?” I waggle my eyebrows.

“I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”

I would have thought Jasper would be unhappy to be spending another night in town, particularly as we don’t even have a car to do any sightseeing, but he seems unbothered.

We find a café for breakfast and while Jasper responds to the avalanche of emails he wakes up to every morning, I call the wineries and hotels we’ve still to visit and let them know we’ll be a day or two late and check my own emails. Then, with low expectations, I google what to do in Bullibingal, because spending the day sitting in that cramped little hotel room holds no appeal at all.

I’m pleasantly surprised.

“Oooh. Look at this. There’s a giant mallee root stump we can visit. And it’s in the park right across the road, so we won’t need a car.”

“I beg your pardon?” Jasper’s brow furrows. I turn my phone for him to see. There’s no unfurrowing of his brow. “Fascinating.” His tone is as dusty as the road outside, but he stops short of rolling his eyes.

“And tonight the Roxy Theatre is showing a film. Eek.” I let out a quiet squeal and bounce in my chair. “It’s Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.” I love that film. As everyone should.

“Oh, well, that’s our day sorted. Visit a tree stump and watch a thirty-something-year-old film. How wonderful.”

I ignore his tone and take his words at face value. “And you’ll never guess.” I pause to give him time, but all I get is a bland stare. “It’s a dress-up. Not mandatory. But suggested. We should see if there’s a thrift store. We could get some costumes.”

A faint shudder runs through Jasper.

“If you think you’ll get me in a feather boa or a sequinned shirt, you’re doomed to disappointment.”

He says that now, but I know the power of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. I lean back in my chair and cross my arms.

“Is that a challenge?”

Because if it is, challenge accepted.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Jasper

I’m being ungracious. Rude even. But waking up to a snarky email from Tate Brown—who doesn’t care at all about the impact of what he’s asked me to do—about my progress in shutting the business down, has set my teeth on edge.

That and the fact that I got next to no sleep.

Listening to Louise breathe all night was torture. Another night in that room together and I’m not sure I’ll be able to resist. Especially when she looks at me with those green eyes full of humour, intelligence and—I know I’m not imagining it—longing. Or at least desire.

I woke up shortly after dawn, and she was sound asleep. With one long, smooth leg tossed outside the covers and a full breast all but falling out of her sleep tank. It’s more than a man should have to bear first thing in the morning. Hence the run. It was either that or take care of business in the shower and risk her hearing through the flimsy walls, which was a hard no. Literally.

Unfortunately, she’s managed to find a thrift store in this tiny little town, and dragged me here on the promise that if I came with her, I wouldn’t have to visit a tree stump this afternoon. Which will free me up to work while she’s ‘sightseeing’.

Rather than trail behind Louise as she browses the aisles, I linger by the door where the smell of thrift stores the world over is not as pungent, and take a moment to check my emails.

I’ve finally heard back from my uncle and Edward with minor suggestions for my proposal to Tate. It shouldn’t take me more than an hour or two to incorporate their suggestions, and I’ll be done. And none too soon, because I’m under pressure from two sides. First from Tate about shutting down the business, and second from my trousers. Because I don’t know how much longer I can hold out against Louise’s wiles. Yes, wiles. And I really need to be honest with her before I collapse under the weight of my own desire.

“Ooh,” she squeals, beckoning me over. “Paydirt.”

Wouldn’t you know it, they have an unexpectedly wide selection of feather boas, satin shirts and sequinned dresses.

“I’m not wearing a red satin shirt,” I grumble as she holds one up against me to gauge the size.