MisplacedCowboy Read Online Free

out of place. Sorry. Bloody hell, I didn’t mean I wanted a…on a…fuck, I
mean… Oh Jesus.”
    He ground his teeth, drew a breath, counted to five and
started again, far too aware of the sudden stares he was getting from around
the gallery. “A shag is a type of water bird that always perches alone on rocks
with its wings spread. It usually stands out like dog’s balls—” Heat flooded
Dylan’s face. He pressed a hand to his eyes, cursing his stupidity.
    You really don’t belong here, mate.
    Monet burst out laughing, the relaxed sound echoing around
the gallery. “Dylan, talking to you is by far the most educational, visual
experience of my life.”
    Dylan peered at her through his fingers before dropping his
hand. “Ta muchly, love. But I think it’s probably better I just keep my gob
shut for a while. At least until I’ve found my dignity. I get the feeling I
left it back at Farpoint Creek.”
    Monet’s blue eyes twinkled. “Given your situation, I think
you’re doing marvelously.”
    “My situation? Stood up on the other side of the world,
luggage-less and completely incapable of contacting anyone who wants to talk to
me? That situation?”
    Once again, Monet laughed. “Well, when you put it that way…”
    Dylan laughed with her. That he’d unsuccessfully tried to
call Hunter three times during the cab ride to the gallery should have bugged
the shit out of him. It didn’t. For two reasons—one, had been roughly nine a.m.
back home and the Farpoint Creek homestead pretty much emptied out once the sun
broke the horizon, every man and his dog getting on with the job of running
Australia’s second largest cattle station.
    And two, he was enjoying himself. Too much.
    Every second with Monet was enjoyable. Not for the fact she
made him hornier than sin—although that was pretty bloody enjoyable—but that
she made him laugh. It was wrong, of course. He’d flown all this way to meet
Annie, a woman he’d described to his brother as “his soul mate”. Hunter had
laughed his arse off at that. Had called Dylan a fucking idiot. What would his
twin make of the situation Dylan currently found himself in?
    He wouldn’t just say, “I told you so”, he’d add “dickhead”
just to nail the point home.
    “Monnie.” A deep male voice snaked into Dylan’s ears. He
turned, watching a man roughly his height dressed in an immaculate steel-gray
suit swan toward Monet and place a kiss on her still smiling lips. “I’ve been
looking for you.”
    Something dark and cold knotted low in Dylan’s gut.
Something that had no right being there. Jealousy. He straightened, taking in
the way the man’s manicured fingers wrapped loosely around Monet’s upper arms.
Watching the way he leaned close to her, how his lips lingered. How
clean-shaven his jaw was and how there wasn’t a hair out of place on his head.
How he smelled of cologne.
    Cologne. Not horse sweat or plain soap, but cologne. No
doubt as expensive as his well-tailored suit.
    “Phillip.” Monet disengaged herself from the kiss, her
cheeks high with color. She flicked Dylan a quick look, an expression he could
only describe as uncomfortable pulling at her gaze. “I didn’t expect to see you
here.”
    Phillip, whoever the hell he was, obviously didn’t stand for
Monet slipping from his grasp. He ran his hands down her arms, caught her
fingers and tugged her back toward him. “Why ever not? A Monet Carmichael
exhibition is the perfect place for an art collector to be. Even more so when
said art collector is the inspiration for her latest work.”
    Monet slid another look toward Dylan, her eyes unreadable,
her shoulders stiff, before she once again slipped from Phillip’s grip and
moved back. “I’m not sure ‘inspiration’ is the right word, Phillip.”
    “Oh shush.” Phillip stepped toward her, apparently deciding
Dylan didn’t exist.
    Dylan decided it was time to fix that problem. Not because
he was jealous, but because Monet appeared…ill