My Fair Bogan

4. Excerpt

Excerpt

‘Temper, Sally.’

A muscle worked her jaw. ‘How can he say that? I haven’t even been here for a day and ‘es accusing me of stealing! Do I look like someone who’s gunna rip ‘im off? Well, do I?’

She didn’t look anything of the sort. She looked like an oversized kitten you didn’t want to anger dressed in a ridiculous, ill-fitting track-suit. Her cheeks were flushed with indignant red, instead of that beguiling pink and her luscious mouth was stretched into a tense line. He liked it when her lips were softer, plumper. They were like that when she didn’t think anyone was looking at her. When she relaxed. She had very kissable lips when she was relaxed. He suddenly wondered what it would be like to press his lips against her pillowy soft mouth. Wondered if they would feel as good as they looked.

He inwardly groaned. He shouldn’t be noticing anything about her other than getting her respectably dressed and polished. It was completely inappropriate. It was totally unprofessional and politically speaking, would wind him up in so much hot water he’d boil to death.

He steeled himself, hooked his palm around her elbow and guided her into the living area. ‘Julian is going to be here in a few minutes.’

‘Who’s Julian?’ Her eyes still flashed, but she was quickly losing her anger.

‘He’s Drake personal stylist. He’s coming here to choose some clothes for you.’

‘Drake has a personal stylist?’

Rhys nodded. ‘All politicians do.’

‘What? They can’t dress ‘emselves? As far as I can see, men don’t wear much more than pants and a top.’

Rhys hid his smile. She had a refreshing way of looking at the world. ‘If only it was that simple. Styles and colours are chosen to make people feel calm, or comfortable, or to look like a leader, or to look as though you are one of the crowd.’

Sally frowned, her half screwed up. ‘Bullshit.’

‘Ladies don’t curse, Sally,’ Rhys said, although silently he agreed with her. Why couldn’t men just wear pants and a top, as she said, and people listen to what he had to say without the veneer. It would make life much simpler.

Maybe that was what had become missing in his life. Simplicity. Ever since Drake’s phenomenal political rise, he really hadn’t turned off from the complications it entailed. It had come on, day by day, until it had taken over. Maybe that’s why he found Sally so refreshing. She didn’t seem to care a whit about it. She certainly wasn’t hanging off Drake’s every word like everybody else did, wasn’t using him for her own goal and certainty wasn’t awed by his position of power. She would have to be the only person within Drake’s constituency without an agenda.

She spun on him, hands on hips, determination stretched her face. ‘Rat’s arse they don’t swear! One of me sister’s first words was “crap”. What do “ladies” say to let off steam then? Because I b****y well don’t know.’

He crashed back for his own thoughts, amusement twitching his mouth. ‘That’s cursing again, Sally.’

She made a frustrated sound. ‘What can I say, then?’

‘Well… nothing. Just swallow the swear words.’

She paused before she rolled her eyes. ‘You can’t be serious! What’s wrong with saying “b****y hell”?’

‘Lara Bingle had her hands full when she used it in the Tourism Australia advert.’

‘What? That skinny girl on the beach?’

Rhys nodded. ‘That’s her.’

Sally flicked her hand in an agitated gesture. ‘Everyone says “b****y hell”.’ That’s the least that’s said at my house, at any count. What about “bugger me”?’

‘Not the best thing to say.’

‘What about crap? Frig? Bum? Nuts? They’re the least offensive words I know.’ Slender twin brows rose as she studied him.

Rhys blinked at her. She did know a stream of colourful words, some of which he hadn’t heard in a long time. He was momentarily stunned.

She narrowed her eyes when he didn’t respond, hooking a hand on her hip. ‘Okay, what about if I say good old fu…’ Hell, she’d taken his silence as a challenge.

‘I get it, Sally! The truth is there will be no swearing at all when in public. You’ll have to get used to it, so while you’re here, you’ll have to try very hard to reign in your colourful language and don’t say anything at all.’

‘But… nothin’ else is… adequate enough.’

Rhys frowned. ‘What do you mean, adequate?’

‘I have to say somethin’! It helps me to calm down. There’s nothin’ better than lettin’ it rip. If I can’t let it rip, I’ll go bonkers.’

Rhys had to bite his lip. He dropped his gaze to the ground so he could gather himself. He’d never come across this type of discussion in his life and he had no idea really what to say. No-one he knew relied on bad language. ‘Okay, if you feel this level of frustration where you have to swear, why don’t you find a mirror in a private place, like a bathroom for example, and swear at yourself in the mirror. Do you think that might work?’

She chewed her bottom lip and the tip of her tongue traced where she’d bitten. It was an unconscious gesture and his eyes followed the small movement as though it was the only thing happening in the room. She had no idea how sexy it was. He wondered what her tongue might feel like on his skin. Hot. Wet. He barely managed to stifle a deep shudder. He gave himself a mental shake. He had to get his mind back to the business at hand, not on the cause of his unexpected heating libido.