MisplacedCowboy by Mari Carr and Lexxie Couper

checked you out.
You could obviously have your pick of them, so I’ve gotta ask. Am I
just…something to check off your list before you kick the bucket? Fool around
with a dumb Australian hick for shits and giggles?”
    Monet stared at him. She didn’t blink. She didn’t even move.
For a moment, Dylan dreaded what she was going to say. What the hell did he do
if she said yes? His bloody heart was already halfway hers. What did he do if
she told him he’d guessed her game?
    And then she went up on tiptoe, leaned toward him and placed
her lips on his, a longer kiss than the one she’d given him back in the Hugo
Boss store. “Dylan, you are so far from a novelty to me it’s scaring me
witless. And if you call yourself a dumb hick again, I will beat you senseless
with your hat. Do you understand?”
    His breath gushed from him in a laugh. Relief flooded
through him, hot and wonderful. Before he could stop himself, he dropped the
bags, wrapped his arms around her waist and did what he’d wanted to do since
she’d stepped out of her shower eight hours ago.
    He kissed her. He didn’t give a flying fuck that they were
standing in the middle of a crowded New York sidewalk. He didn’t care he was
the only bloke dressed like an extra in Brokeback Mountain . He kissed
her. The way he wanted to, with his tongue, his lips, his teeth.
    He kissed her and she kissed him back. And he’d never felt
happier in his life.
    * * * * *
    The opening was the most successful Monet had ever had. The
exhibition itself— Lust Is Love Is Lust —had already stirred up some
controversy before the doors had even opened, a local religious group taking
offense to its sexual themes, exploration of hetro- and homosexual love and, to
quote the spokesman for the protestors, “pornographic material”. Monet wondered
now, as the last of the invited guests left the gallery, if the anti-sex
ranting had amounted to anything more than free publicity. Though she didn’t
need it. She’d been making a very nice income on her artwork for close to five
years now and her name was enough to draw a strong crowd.
    Still, there was something special about this opening.
    Something? Or someone?
    She chewed on her bottom lip, unable to stop her gaze from
sliding to where Dylan stood talking to Kerrie, his hat on his head, his body
filling out the Hugo Boss suit with such divine perfection she could almost
believe he was a god sent from sexual heaven.
    He was why tonight had been so special. It had
nothing to do with the little green dots stuck to ninety percent of the works
on display in the gallery, the dots that indicated the works had been sold. It
had nothing to do with the rousing words of approval from the New York Times ’
harshest critic.
    It was the simple fact that Dylan Sullivan was there to
share her success with her. To smile at her when she caught his eye; to gladly
say “g’day, mate” whenever a patron asked, fascinated by his Australian accent;
to stand silently beside her, his presence more real than anything else she
could imagine, while she watched the crowd take in her work.
    How was it possible to be so…so…content? So happy?
Especially when she should be feeling guilty about what happened last
night. And her continued failure to reach Annie.
    “I see you’re now playing dress up with the Down Under
Wonder?”
    She gazed to her left and frowned at Phillip, biting back a
sigh. That he’d even attended the opening surprised the hell out of her. That
he had the balls to approach her, to continue to insult Dylan, flabbergasted
her. Still, he’d stayed away from her all night, so she guessed she had to put
up with him now. If only to tell him to shut up and grow up.
    Before she could open her mouth, Kerrie was at her side, the
curator’s gloriously wicked smile flashing at Phillip. “Phi-Phi.”
    Phillip sneered at Kerrie, and for the first time, Monet
noticed just how metrosexual Philip was. And how narrow-shouldered. And how
much