Phoebe Masters, so don’t
even think about it.”
“I—”
He shook his head, putting his fingers on her lips. “Before
you go on, let me say something.” He shot Will a look, his eyes conveying words
to his friend she couldn’t hear. “Yes, both Tiny and I are pretty bloody
hotshot, flying-up-the-ranks investigators. Yes, we’ve both been tapped more
than once for promotion to the Sydney offices.”
Phoebe gasped. They had? “When? Before I moved here?” she
asked. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat.
“Why didn’t either of you go?”
Damon gave Will another of those meaningful looks. “Neither
of us wanted to live in Sydney. Why would we? It’s too far away from you .”
She swallowed again, searching his face for any hint of
mirth.
Nothing.
Damon, the man who seemed capable of finding humor in every
aspect of his life, was serious. A prickling heat began to creep over her body.
“Eight years we’ve been working together,” Will said, and
she jerked her gaze to him. A grin curled at his lips. Will was gorgeous when
serious, but that small smile… “Eight years since I was promoted and
transferred to the Newcastle offices from the Outback. Eight years since
Stretch here became my boss…and my mate. In all that time, do you think there
haven’t been rumors about what we do together when we’re off duty?”
She blinked. She knew how gossipy the firefighting
organization was. What she hadn’t known was that Will and Damon were the
subject of such gossip. “Why?”
It was Damon’s turn to grin—the patented Damon Hunt grin,
sardonically cheeky and flippant. “We’re two hot, bloody sexy men who spend
most of our time together, turning down one woman after another. Hell, most of
the blokes in the Newcastle unit are convinced we’re fucking each other.”
It was the last part of his sentence she should have focused
on, but as it seemed wont to do of late, her mind latched onto something far
less significant. “Why did you turn down one woman after another?”
Damon burst out laughing, loud and completely free of shame.
“Fuck a duck, Masters,” he shook his head at her, “I thought you were smart.”
“We turned down one woman after another,” Will stated, his
grin growing wider, “because we only wanted you, Pheebs. Even if we didn’t know
it at the time.”
She gave him a steady look, her pulse thumping in her neck,
that prickly tension sweeping over her. “So, who were the dumb ones then?”
“And then when we realized, we ran like gutless chickens,”
Damon continued, pulling an expression of such boyish exasperation she had to
bite back a laugh. “Well, you did the running, although it wasn’t a run as such but a planned move. But we let you. And we didn’t come after you. As
much as we wanted to.”
“Again,” Phoebe asked, her voice teasing, “who are the dumb
ones?”
“We were, Pheebs.” Will took her hand, his fingers warm, his
grip loose and yet so very, very firm. “Bloody dumb. We should have followed
you to Morpeth and apologized for being dickheads and begged you to come back
to us. We both know that, but the point Stretch is trying so badly to
make here—honestly, I sometimes wonder how he manages to fill out all the
paperwork involved in our job—is that we’re already shrouded in rumor and
conjecture and it hasn’t killed our careers one bit.”
“But rumor and fact are two very different things,” Phoebe
said quickly. The prickling heat had become a tingling sensation, like all the
blood in her veins was charged. Like she was a glass rod ready to be blown into
something beautiful, beyond comprehension—or shattered beyond repair.
“Pheebs,” Will leaned toward her, his grin making her heart
thump and her sex constrict, “we’re not going to get kicked off our jobs
because we’re both in love with the same woman.”
“Might if we bring said woman to a possible arson scene and
fuck her senseless
even think about it.”
“I—”
He shook his head, putting his fingers on her lips. “Before
you go on, let me say something.” He shot Will a look, his eyes conveying words
to his friend she couldn’t hear. “Yes, both Tiny and I are pretty bloody
hotshot, flying-up-the-ranks investigators. Yes, we’ve both been tapped more
than once for promotion to the Sydney offices.”
Phoebe gasped. They had? “When? Before I moved here?” she
asked. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat.
“Why didn’t either of you go?”
Damon gave Will another of those meaningful looks. “Neither
of us wanted to live in Sydney. Why would we? It’s too far away from you .”
She swallowed again, searching his face for any hint of
mirth.
Nothing.
Damon, the man who seemed capable of finding humor in every
aspect of his life, was serious. A prickling heat began to creep over her body.
“Eight years we’ve been working together,” Will said, and
she jerked her gaze to him. A grin curled at his lips. Will was gorgeous when
serious, but that small smile… “Eight years since I was promoted and
transferred to the Newcastle offices from the Outback. Eight years since
Stretch here became my boss…and my mate. In all that time, do you think there
haven’t been rumors about what we do together when we’re off duty?”
She blinked. She knew how gossipy the firefighting
organization was. What she hadn’t known was that Will and Damon were the
subject of such gossip. “Why?”
It was Damon’s turn to grin—the patented Damon Hunt grin,
sardonically cheeky and flippant. “We’re two hot, bloody sexy men who spend
most of our time together, turning down one woman after another. Hell, most of
the blokes in the Newcastle unit are convinced we’re fucking each other.”
It was the last part of his sentence she should have focused
on, but as it seemed wont to do of late, her mind latched onto something far
less significant. “Why did you turn down one woman after another?”
Damon burst out laughing, loud and completely free of shame.
“Fuck a duck, Masters,” he shook his head at her, “I thought you were smart.”
“We turned down one woman after another,” Will stated, his
grin growing wider, “because we only wanted you, Pheebs. Even if we didn’t know
it at the time.”
She gave him a steady look, her pulse thumping in her neck,
that prickly tension sweeping over her. “So, who were the dumb ones then?”
“And then when we realized, we ran like gutless chickens,”
Damon continued, pulling an expression of such boyish exasperation she had to
bite back a laugh. “Well, you did the running, although it wasn’t a run as such but a planned move. But we let you. And we didn’t come after you. As
much as we wanted to.”
“Again,” Phoebe asked, her voice teasing, “who are the dumb
ones?”
“We were, Pheebs.” Will took her hand, his fingers warm, his
grip loose and yet so very, very firm. “Bloody dumb. We should have followed
you to Morpeth and apologized for being dickheads and begged you to come back
to us. We both know that, but the point Stretch is trying so badly to
make here—honestly, I sometimes wonder how he manages to fill out all the
paperwork involved in our job—is that we’re already shrouded in rumor and
conjecture and it hasn’t killed our careers one bit.”
“But rumor and fact are two very different things,” Phoebe
said quickly. The prickling heat had become a tingling sensation, like all the
blood in her veins was charged. Like she was a glass rod ready to be blown into
something beautiful, beyond comprehension—or shattered beyond repair.
“Pheebs,” Will leaned toward her, his grin making her heart
thump and her sex constrict, “we’re not going to get kicked off our jobs
because we’re both in love with the same woman.”
“Might if we bring said woman to a possible arson scene and
fuck her senseless
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