Read Bare for You: Outback Skies, Book 3 for Free Online Page A

muttered.
    Linda.
    The very female name stabbed at the fog of arousal permeating Ryan’s mind. He sucked in a slow breath, at once furious with himself and shocked by the ridiculous jealousy shearing through him.
    With a grunt, he yanked his hat from his head, tossed it into the space behind the front seats and slapped his headphones over his ears.
    Linda. Jesus, since when had he let raw lust get the better of him? And here he was thinking before the five days were up and the minister went back to Sydney, maybe, just maybe, they could explore the undeniable sexual attraction between—
    “If you’ll excuse me for a moment.”
    Jeremy’s apologetic statement jerked Ryan back to the interior of his chopper, a second before the politician climbed out of the passenger seat and hurried back to the homestead.
    Gut a churning mess, Ryan frowned. “What the fuck?”
    Barely five minutes later, Jeremy reappeared.
    And Ryan knew beyond doubt the battle to banish the man from his mind was lost.
    “Better?” Jeremy grinned at him, once again settled back in the passenger seat.
    It was all Ryan could do not to lean across the middle console and kiss him senseless.
    Instead, he let himself slowly—slowly—take in every inch of the new minister for the arts and culture sitting beside him.
    Gone was the tailored suit, silk tie and polished business shoes. In their place were a pair of faded denim jeans that highlighted not only the sculpted muscles of Jeremy’s legs, but the rather impressive bulge of his groin, his white business shirt—now with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his collar unbuttoned, and a pair of hiking boots that genuinely looked like they’d trekked halfway around the world and back.
    On his head sat an Akubra Snowy River, the iconic Australian hat as well-worn and beaten as the boots on his feet.
    “Better,” Ryan rasped, mouth dry, lifting his gaze to Jeremy’s face. In his jeans, his cock throbbed.
    White teeth flashed at him as Jeremy’s grin stretched wider. “Good.”
    Grinding his teeth, body thrumming with carnal want, Ryan turned his attention to the controls of his chopper. “Let’s get this bird in the sky,” he growled, his dick now hard and trapped uncomfortably in his jeans.
    Beside him, Jeremy laughed.
    The laugh of a man who knew exactly what he was doing. And was enjoying himself immensely while doing so.
    The ancient Aboriginal art painted and etched into the rocky overhang known as Thaaklatjika was stunning. Spiritual. Jeremy moved from one to the other—led by an Aboriginal elder guide—taking in each one with enrapt, reverent awe.
    Or at least, that’s what he hoped the tribal elder, the Wallaby Ridge mayor and the small media contingent from Sydney there to capture the politically important moment saw.
    In actuality, he spent the entire duration far too aware Ryan Taylor was but a few metres away, his entirely too-rugged maleness crushing any hope Jeremy had of absorbing the culturally significant artwork.
    Every time he heard Ryan utter something to one of the others in their party, be it a comment on the paintings themselves or to clarify a misconception about the Malyankapa and Pandjikali people, the traditional owners of the land, Jeremy’s stomach clenched and his pulse quickened.
    It was his own fault, of course. He’d asked Ryan to accompany them.
    When they’d touched down on the outskirts of the Mutawintji Historic Site, after a flight ripe with loaded silence, Ryan had informed him—and the waiting Barnaby Doyle and Aboriginal elder—he was going to wait in the chopper.
    Before Jeremy could stop himself, the invitation to join them on their exploration of the artworks fell from his lips. Although it was less an invitation and more, going by the way his stomach churned and his balls ached, a request.
    Not even that. A need.
    Because despite the fact Ryan had turned down his poorly considered, wholly impulsive offer of coffee—yeah right, coffee—Jeremy