Hello lovely readers. A quick word on the language used in this chapter to describe Aboriginal people. It is awful, but unfortunately it's historically accurate.

I'd also like to thank the wonderful guests who have written such fabulous reviews. I can't reply to you personally, so just wanted to say thank you.

Phryne walked briskly up through the trees and across the lawn to the front door of the homestead. She stopped on the verandah to catch her breath then opened the door just as Millie was walking down the hall towards the kitchen with a tray full of crockery.

"Morning, miss," she said after twisting to greet her. "I'll take these to the kitchen and be right back."

"Thank you, Millie." Phryne looked at the empty coat pegs by the door. Blast! He'd left already. She hung her hat and coat, disappointed she'd missed him despite getting up at an ungodly hour yet again. Although she would see him straight after breakfast, she wanted to spend as much time with him as possible, given his imminent departure from Melbourne and her life. Perhaps she should skip breakfast and go straight to the study to see him. No, she was famished, and she didn't want to seem too desperate to spend time with him, even though she was and he knew it.

She sat at the dining table on the seat Jack probably occupied that morning, the one he'd been in the last two mornings with a view towards the lake. She wondered how he'd be with her today. He was moody at the best of times, but after almost kissing her last night, he could go either way.

Millie bustled in and took her order. While Phryne was waiting for her usual tea and toast, she stared out the window for a while then glanced at the papers lying on the table. Yesterday's Age and The Sydney Morning Herald were there, folded neatly and pushed off slightly to the right. Another smaller paper lay in front of her, just above the place mat. It had the front pages folded back, almost willing her to slide it down the table to have a look. She did: The Riverine Gazette. Local rag then. She scanned the stories for anything of interest. A headline caught her eye.

FUTURE OF COOTAMUNDRA GIRLS HOME AT RISK FROM UNGRATEFUL BLACKS

Black radicals have petitioned Premier Lang to shut down the Cootamundra Domestic Training Home for Aboriginal Girls, citing widespread abuse. Tom Shanahan, member of the newly founded Australian Aborigines Progressive Association, accused the Government's Aboriginal Protection Board of seeking to destroy the Aboriginal identity and culture, by "forcibly removing girls from their homes to train as domestic slaves".

This disgusting attack on the prominent law makers who are working tirelessly to improve the lives of the natives by—

Phryne jumped in surprise when Millie arrived with her breakfast, quickly folding the paper so she couldn't see the article. She looked up at Millie as she lay her breakfast before her.

"I don't know New South Wales very well, Millie. Can you tell me where Cootamundra is?"

Millie froze and stood slowly. "Long way from here, miss," she said without looking at her. "Do you want to go there?"

"No, no. Just wondering." She said with a reassuring smile. "I've just heard the name lately."

Millie nodded once and left the room. Phryne opened the paper and continued reading. She raised her eyebrows at what she read next, then gulped her tea and spread her toast so she could take it with her. Breakfast in hand, she trotted out the door.

-o0o-

Jack heard the click of her heels on the verandah and felt a strong tug in his guts, but it wasn't anxiety this time. He looked up just as she stopped by the window to peer in. She flashed him a radiant smile. He smiled back, pleased that the mood of their meeting was established before she had entered the room. She walked in with a piece of toast in one hand and a folded paper under her arm, shutting the door behind her to keep their conversation as private as possible. She tossed the paper down onto the desk just in front of him.

Ahh," he said, pulling it closer, "I see you found the article."

Phryne raised her eyebrows and stuck her chin out. "Of course! I know an evidence plant when I see one." They smiled at each other, pleased to be feeling themselves again.

She moved around the table to sit next to him, somehow resisting the temptation to run her hand lightly over his shoulders in a show of affection as she walked behind him. Once seated, she scooted the chair closer so they could both read the article.

"This is very interesting, I think," he said, rapping the paper with the back of his fingers, "and perhaps related to the case, but I'll get to that later. Even more interesting is what I found out this morning."

Phryne had just taken a bite of her toast. She turned her head sharply to look at him as she chewed. "Hmm?"

"I have a potential name of the victim."

Phryne widened her eyes and quickly swallowed her mouthful. "Who? How?"

"I called Swan Hill station this morning to find out if anyone had reported a missing person. Turns out someone did. Kathleen Walsh turned up at Swan Hill station two days ago and reported Patrick Walsh, her husband, as missing." He paused and looked at her. "He was a union organiser with the Australian Workers' Union."

Phryne raised her eyebrows. "Well, well."

Jack nodded. "Mm. He left home earlier than usual the day before and hasn't been seen since. He'll have to be identified, but I'm hopeful our victim now has a name."

"It has to be him! Race?"

Jack pressed his lips together and nodded. "Aboriginal."

"That settles it then, surely."

"Yes, I think it does." Jack turned the page of his notebook. "Detective Inspector O'Sullivan from Swan Hill is coming over with his wife first thing tomorrow morning to identify him. I'll meet them at the hospital morgue." He shook his head. "Nasty business that."

Phryne blew out a breath. "Well, that is an important discovery. Why wait until tomorrow?"

"She's distraught. Refusing to believe it's him. Wants to have another day to see if they find him." He pressed his lips together. "They're doing the ring around at hospitals to placate her."

Phryne nodded. "Poor thing. Would you like a female presence tomorrow? A support person for the wife, I mean."

Jack pursed his lips while he considered her offer then nodded slowly. "That's a good idea. I'm sure she'll appreciate that. And it's not like you've haven't already seen him dead." He smiled. "Thank you."

Phryne smiled back at him, pleased with the new development that would help them solve the case until she remembered what that would mean for them. She sobered quickly, turning away from him to look at the newspaper she'd brought with her.

"Well then," she said, thankful for the distraction. "Tell me what interested you in this article."

Phryne looked at him, waiting for him to answer her. He raised an eyebrow and looked at her quietly.

She sighed theatrically and dragged the paper closer. "All right, I'll figure it out. Well, it's very sensationalist and terribly disparaging of the Aboriginal group." She paused and looked up at him. "But it was the gushing praise of the prominent board members of the girls' home from Balranald and Wagga Wagga, including 'much respected senior police officers' that interested me." She stopped and looked at him. "You too, I assume?"

Jack nodded. "I asked around."

"Go on."

"Don't you want to guess?"

Phryne rolled her eyes playfully and sat back in her seat. "Well … I'd say there'd have to be a Morecroft on the board. And as for police, I assume Wright's got his grubby little fingers in this sordid pie. How am I doing so far?"

"Spot on. Board members include Wright, who's still missing, by the way, and Frederick Moorecroft. I'll call the DC today to get Wright's Super to find him and send him in for an interview. Disappearing in the middle of a murder investigation when you're the leading officer is not a good look."

"I agree. What interest do you think Wright would have in that home?"

"I wondered the same thing." He looked at his watch, "I have the wool grader and his wife coming in fifteen minutes."

Phryne nodded. As much as she'd like to attend all interviews, she knew it wasn't appropriate. "I promised Aunt P a game of draughts, this morning." She sighed, "I know what I'd rather be doing. Are you lunching in the dining room today or here?"

"Here, I have interviews all day."

Phryne nodded and glanced at her watch. She didn't want to leave quite yet. "Did you sleep well last night?"

Jack tilted his head and thought about it. "Better that the last two nights, yes. You?"

Phryne shrugged. "Not bad, I suppose, but these early mornings are a killer."

Jack smiled. "An early night for you then."

"Not tonight, I'm afraid. Cornelia asked us to attend the annual thank you to the shearers tonight."

"Us?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes, us. Please come Jack. It's a casual get-together."

He winced. "Do I have to?"

Phryne reached out and held his hand. She was about to speak, but stopped when he looked down at her hand on his then lifted his eyes to hers. He was quiet for a while but didn't pull his hand away.

"Do you remember the first time you did that?" he asked her.

Phryne smiled. "Of course, I do. My birthday. I believe I was trying to convince you to attend a party with me then too. I never did get to dance with you that night." She gave his hand a small shake. "Please Jack, it'll be fun. There'll be food and wine." She gave him her best doe-eye look. "Please don't leave me alone with the shearers."

Jack huffed out a small laugh and smiled at her, thankful they could laugh at their disastrous reunion now. "I'll see how I feel at the end of the day." He smiled as Phryne pouted in disappointment. She was adorable when she did that. "What time?"

"Six o'clock. The shearers are early risers. You should also know there won't be a formal dinner tonight, so if you want food, you'll have to come."

Jack smiled at her persistence. "No promises, but I'll try."

She withdrew her hand from his and nodded with an exaggerated sigh. She stood. "I'll leave you to your interviews then. See you at six," she said with a grin.

-o0o-

It was a gorgeous late spring evening. The heat of the day had been blown away by a breeze cool enough for Phryne to wear a colorful shawl over her blouse. She had chosen to walk to the homestead in the hope Jack would want to walk her home. If it was early enough, she would invite him in to discuss the case. Well, that was her plan, anyway. She took the road so she wouldn't collect burrs with the flared cuffs of her well-fitted trousers.

She stepped onto the verandah and walked along the wing that housed some of the servants, passing the guest room where Jack was sleeping. She turned the corner and slowed. The double doors to the sitting room were open and small groups of shearers sat on the verandah drinking beer and talking loudly. She gathered her shawl tightly around her. One of them saw her and elbowed the man next to him, thrusting his jaw out in her direction. He murmured a few words and they all turned to watch her walk towards them.

The toothless shearer who invited her onto his lap a couple of nights ago called out to her as she walked closer. "Good to see you again luv. How'ya goin'?"

"Evening, gentlemen." She smiled at them as she stepped through the doorway to the sitting room, pleased they were on their best behaviour in front of their boss.

Cornelia and her aunt were seated just inside the door in a cluster of eight chairs that surrounded a low table. Judging by their quizzical expressions, they'd heard the exchange. Phryne shrugged. She didn't want to relive that night again. She sat down with her back to the wall and placed her hat and shawl on an empty seat beside her, reserving it for Jack, hopeful he would come.

"Help yourself to some food, dear," her aunt said, "Cornelia's put on a wonderful spread."

"I will soon, Aunt P," she said, wanting to wait so see if Jack would turn up. "I might have a drink first." She twisted in her seat to stand just as Millie arrived with a tray of drinks. She chose a cocktail, thanked her and turned back to Cornelia just as an older couple entered the room. They looked to be in their fifties, well weathered, like most people she met who lived on the land. They nodded at Cornelia and sat down with them.

Cornelia greeted them, somewhat coolly, Phryne thought. She turned to Phryne and her aunt. "I'd like to introduce Mr and Mrs Bartlett. Mr Bartlett is our wool grader. She placed her hand on her friend's arm. "This is my dear friend Mrs Stanley and her niece, Miss Fisher. Miss Fisher kindly drove her aunt all the way from Melbourne to attend my party."

"How do you do," Phryne said, holding out her hand. Mr Bartlett, a wiry, bespectacled man nodded and held her hand lightly. He was wrinkly, almost shrivelled, slowly baked by years of torturous summers. This place would do that to a person, she thought. He held her hand for just little too long and let his eyes drift down her chest, much like Wright had done when she first met him. Phryne tried not to grimace and withdrew her hand quickly, hoping his wife hadn't noticed his leery look. When she turned to Mrs Bartlett to greet her, she was met with a steely gaze. She held out her hand anyway. The wife reluctantly extended her pudgy hand to loosely hold on to the end of Phryne's fingers for a shake that lasted no more than a second.

After they greeted her aunt, the wife looked down the room and snapped her fingers at Millie to draw her attention. When Millie didn't respond, she called out.

"Girl!"

Phryne saw Cornelia bristle. "Her name's Millie, Nora," she said curtly. "I know you know that."

Nora gave Cornelia a withering look, just as Millie came over with the tray. The Bartletts ignored her as they took their drinks, but Cornelia smiled at her warmly.

"Thank you, dear."

Phryne looked at her aunt and raised an eyebrow. Her aunt flicked her eyes towards the Bartletts and raised an eyebrow back before taking a sip of her drink. She was definitely feeling the tension too. Phryne turned her head to look around the room so they wouldn't see her smirk.

There must have been thirty or so shearers, including the groups outside, clustered around several low tables crammed with beer bottles and ashtrays. The plates on their laps were piled high with bread and assorted meats and chutneys. The shearers were all white, and mostly ignored her, apart from a glance here and there followed by a snigger. They were enjoying the free beer and food, clearly having a good time.

She sighed, already bored. She glanced at her watch: six fifty. She'd just decided to accept that he wouldn't come after all when the back door opened and the man of her thoughts entered the room. She felt a strong tug in her belly when she saw him. He was freshly washed and shaven, dressed in casual pants, shirt and tie, and a plain dark blue jumper that matched his eyes. She watched him hesitate, unsure of the reception he'd get from the shearers, now they all knew his profession. The room quietened as they turned to him, but only for a second or two until they turned their attention back to their drinks. It was why they were there, after all.

"Inspector," Cornelia called out, giving him a wave. "Won't you join us?"

Jack gave her a small nod. He looked at Phryne grinning at him and held her gaze as he wove his way through the shearers to the table. She gathered up her hat and shawl as an invitation to sit next to her, which he did, smiling at her infectious grin.

"Good evening," he said to the table.

Phryne watched the Bartletts, who managed to smile back at him through what looked like clenched teeth. She added them to the long list of suspicious and resentful locals. She turned back to Jack. He gave her a look only she could decipher. He'd had an interesting day of interviews then. She gave him one back, a look that conveyed her understanding and desire to talk about it later. He turned away just as Millie appeared at his elbow with a tray of drinks. He chose red wine. Still off the whiskey then.

After he had finished his drink, Phryne suggested he accompany her to the table to get some food. When they were out of earshot, she asked him about his interviews.

"I can't say I warmed to the Bartletts," he whispered as he piled his plate high with devilled chicken and potatoes. He glanced over to see them both staring at him. He nodded and then turned his back on them. "We can talk about it later, if you like."

Phryne tried to tamp down her enthusiasm. She was still worried about scaring him off. "I would like that, Jack. My cottage?" she asked hopefully. "We can talk freely there."

He hesitated for a few seconds, then nodded. "All right."

They walked back to the table to eat their meal and engaged in small talk for a while. Jack was mostly quiet unless he was asked a question. Thankfully, no-one asked about the case or his move to Geelong. Instead, the conversation moved to crime in general, and how they differed between the big cities and country towns. The Bartletts were quick to lay blame for most misdemeanors squarely at the feet of the Aboriginal people.

Cornelia clicked her tongue loudly and was about to respond when a booming voice called out, "Anyone 'ere play the piano?"

Jack immediately turned to Phryne and flared his eyes as a warning. He saw the beginning of a smirk and gave her an imperceptibly small shake of the head.

"Why, I believe the Inspector plays," she called out. She looked at him and grinned. "Isn't that so, Inspector?"

Jack narrowed his eyes at her as the shearers cheered and clapped.

"Aww, come on Inspector! Give us a tune, will ya?" came a voice from across the room. The men started to whistle and stamp their feet in encouragement.

Phryne leant forward and whispered, "You wouldn't deny these hard-working men a sing-along now would you, Jack? Here's your chance to get on their good side."

He turned and said loudly, "Only if Miss Fisher accompanies me in song." He turned back to Phryne and raised an eyebrow.

"Touché," she said quietly. "Come on, Inspector," she said more to the room than to Jack, "let's not keep these men waiting, they are clearly hungry for entertainment."

She stood and walked to the piano, smiling smugly as she waited for Jack to join her. He felt awkward knowing all eyes were on him and rose slowly. Yes, he could play, but he had never performed in a room full of strangers.

He held her gaze as he walked towards the piano, only breaking eye contact to sit on the stool. He fussed a bit as he made sure he was at a comfortable distance from the keys and pedals. The room fell silent in anticipation. He placed his hands on his knees and looked up with pursed his lips while he went through his repertoire in search of something suitable to play. He was classically trained but didn't think a piano concerto would go down too well with the shearers. He didn't care much for operettas, even though he knew a couple of Gilbert and Sullivan numbers, thanks to his grandmother's insistence he learn them to entertain her on his visits. He pressed his lips together. Nope. He wasn't in the mood for one of them. He looked up at Phryne who was waiting expectantly for him to start. She was studying his face to make sure he wasn't frozen with stage fright so he gave her a smile and a quick wink to let her know he wasn't too mad at her.

Phryne smiled back, relieved she hadn't put him in too awkward a position. A little awkward was perfectly fine though. She sure did enjoy seeing him squirm. She watched him intently as he nodded to himself. He had finally found a suitable song. He lowered his eyes to the keys and played a few notes. The room erupted in a cheer of approval. They knew this one.

Jack looked at Phryne as his hands danced across the keys. She nodded to let him know she approved and smiled broadly before singing in a clear and confident voice:

There is a flower within my heart

Daisy, Daisy

Jack looked down at the keys as Phryne sang the next few lines. She was soon drowned out by the drunken and cacophonous voices of the men. He huffed out a small laugh. He'd heard cat fights more melodic than that lot.

Phryne watched his fingers move fluidly over the keys and with the ease of someone who played often. Apart from looking up at her from time to time, he looked down at his hands with a small smile on his face. Although she suspected he would never admit it, he looked like he was enjoying himself.

Jack looked up at her again to see her watching him as she sang. Up until now he had been quiet. He quirked an eyebrow and gave her one of his penetrating looks as he quietly sang the next couple of lines so only she could hear him:

Whether she loves me or loves me not

Sometimes it's hard to tell ...

Phryne felt like she'd been struck and put her hand on the piano to steady herself. She blinked rapidly and forgot to sing a few lines. She looked away from him and stared at the wall in front of her. Her voice, when she started again, was strangled: thin and strained, as if someone had her in a chokehold. The music and voices of the men seemed to fade into the background as she struggled with sadness and confusion. Did he want her to love him? After labouring through the first verse, her voice trailed away slowly until she stopped singing and stared at the wall opposite.

Jack had looked down at his hands to avoid her eye once he saw her response, only looking up at her again when she stopped singing. She was staring at the wall opposite, lost in thought. He waited for her to glance at him so he could give her a smile but she kept her eyes on the wall. She looked sad and a little shaken. He was just about to whisper her name when she walked away from the piano.

The men sang along, oblivious to what had just passed between them. Phryne's aunt muttered oh dear under her breath and sat a little straighter as Phryne walked towards the table to collect her shawl and hat.

"Please excuse me," she whispered, before hurrying out the door.

Jack watched her go. He didn't want her to walk back to her room alone but he couldn't stop mid song. Not only would he be skinned alive by the shearers, but he would draw further attention to what just happened. He increased the tempo a little to get it over and done with. After he finished, he stood quickly amid the raucous applause and shouts of more, raised his hand in thanks and strode quickly to the door to go after her, snatching his hat from the seat and nodding to Mrs Stanley and Cornelia on the way past.

He cursed his stupidity as he jogged down the path to the lake to where he knew she'd be. What was meant to be a gentle dig at their predicament had somehow caused her to freeze. He wove his way through the trees, thankful for yet another bright night and emerged into the clearing where she was hunched yet again on the bench. He called out so he wouldn't startle her. She turned to him and watched him walk towards her, turning away as he drew closer. He sat with his body angled towards her, his knees pressed against hers. He was close enough to reach for her hand, but he didn't.

"You didn't like my choice of song?" he joked, trying to make light of the situation.

Phryne's lips were pressed tightly together, but she managed a small smile.

"I guess I wasn't in the mood for a party after all," she said, looking at him.

"Well, I'd normally offer to leave you in peace, but not here."

She turned to look at him and nodded. "I want you stay Jack. Please, stay with me for a while."

Jack breathed out in relief and scooted closer so they were both facing the lake. He reached for her hand, pulling it onto his knee so he could hold it in both hands.

'I'm sorry, Phryne. I didn't mean to upset you. I—"

"Jack," she gently, turning towards him. She twisted so she could cup his jaw with her other hand. She looked at him for a few moments as she brushed her thumb over his cheek then shook her head slowly. "You are a lovely, lovely man. After all I did to you, you're still worried about upsetting me." She took her hand away and shook her head as she turned back towards the lake. "In some ways I wish you were cruel."

Jack clicked his tongue and tugged on her hand. "Stop it. You don't deserve cruelness, Phryne. No-one does."

She angled her body towards him again and put her other hand over his. She slid her fingers though his knuckles to caress the back of his hand. "It would help, you know," she said, flicking her eyes up at him then back down to their hands. "It'd help me cope with you leaving because I …" she shook her head. "I just can't accept it. I just can't imagine you gone." She looked up at him to meet his intense gaze. "I know I can't convince you to stay, and a very small part of me wants you to go so you can find someone else to love you, Jack, but … I … I." She turned away so he couldn't see her sadness.

Jack wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into his chest. He closed his eyes and sighed when he felt the warmth of her forehead pressed into his neck. This is where he wanted her to be, wrapped in his arms and pressed closely against him. He nuzzled the top of her head with his cheek and ran his hand up and down her arm to soothe her. They stayed like that for a few moments, both of them savouring the embrace. Jack moved his face down to kiss her cheek and felt her breathing quicken. His heart responded by thumping in his chest. He exhaled slowly and gently withdrew from her until their faces were close. He cupped her jaw to angle her face up towards him and wiped away her smudged mascara with his thumb.

They gazed at each other, breathing more heavily now. God, he wanted to kiss her. He felt her hand on his thigh and exhaled sharply, flicking his eyes to her mouth, which was now inches from his, her breath coming hot and fast through parted lips. Should he? He was frozen with indecision; he just couldn't make the first move, and neither could she.

Jack pulled away slowly and twisted to face the lake as he puffed out a breath. He closed his eyes and put his elbows on his knees so he could lean forward and run his hands though his hair. He straightened and twisted to face her again, reaching out to give her hand a quick squeeze.

"We still have a few days here together, Phryne," he said as a distraction from their near kiss. "Let's make the most of it. We'll have the case, and when we're not working, we can spend some time together, perhaps go for walks or a paddle on the lake in one of the canoes under your cottage. Perhaps a dinner back in Melbourne before I leave."

Phryne shook her head slowly. "There's so much I want to do with you, Jack. Much more than we could possibly do in the few days we have here. Geelong's not far from Melbourne. Perhaps I could visit you there sometime?"

Jack clicked his tongue softly and tucked her hair gently behind her ear. He'd always wanted to do that. "I don't think that's a good idea. I'll always have feelings for you if we still see each other." He opened his mouth, closing it quickly when he realised the suggestiveness of what he was about to say. He sighed. He didn't care anymore. He looked at her lips and then back to her eyes again. "What sort of things did you have in mind?"

Phryne blinked rapidly as she thought about what he had said. Should she tell him she wanted to kiss him and make love to him? Best not, in case it scared him away. "Well," she said slowly, still thinking about what she could say, "we never did have a proper waltz."

Jack snorted and pretended to be offended. "What? What was wrong with my waltz? I even bribed my sister to practice with me to make sure it was a proper waltz."

Phryne huffed out a small laugh and squeezed his hand. "Oh Jack, that's adorable!" He was so good at lifting her mood. She tilted her head and rolled her eyes skyward. "All right then, yes, we danced a proper waltz." She paused to gaze at him for a short while. "But," she said smirking "that was very proper. I want an improper waltz."

"An improper waltz?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head. He pretended to think. "Is that where we forget the moves and step on each other's toes?"

Phryne smiled. It felt good to be silly with him again. It still terrified her that her happiness was so tied to how they were getting on. She caressed the back of his hand. "No, Jack," she said playfully. "I want a slow and close waltz." She leant forward, like she was about to tell him a secret and whispered, "The type of waltz that would make Aunt P blush." She pretended to straighten his tie so she could lean closer and touch him again. "It's been our metaphorical dance for the last few years, after all." She looked at him with one eyebrow raised. Jack tilted his head and raised an eyebrow back at her. She watched as he considered her request. After a short while, he stood and held out his hand.

"Would you do me the honour of dancing with me, Miss Fisher?"

Phryne grinned at him. She didn't expect him to dance with her here. She held out her hand for him to pull her up. "I most certainly will, Inspector."

Jack pulled her to him and held her so they were close but their bodies weren't touching. Phryne put her hand on his arm at first, but after a short while she slid it slowly upwards to cup the back of his neck, just as Jack's hand moved slowly downwards until it was splayed low on the small of her back, improperly low, so he could feel the rise of her bottom. Their eyes never left each other's as they swayed, occasionally bumping their bodies together before moving apart again. The longer they gazed at each other, the faster their breaths came. Both of them knew they would eventually kiss. There was no going back from this.

After a minute or so, Jack leant forward so his mouth was close to hers. "Is this improper enough?"

Phryne slid her cheek against his so she could whisper in his ear. She was breathing too heavily to talk normally. "No. Closer."

Jack grunted. Absolutely last chance to pull away from her. If he pulled her against him he wouldn't be able to resist her. Plus, she would feel his arousal and know he wanted something more. But did he? He huffed out a breath through his nose. Good god, yes. He'd never wanted anything as much as he wanted her now and the timing was perfect. They were unmarried adults in a secluded cottage in the middle of nowhere. What better place to finally scratch that niggling and longstanding itch. And what did he have to lose? Nothing. He couldn't possibly love her any more than he already did. Besides, she would never change her mind about commitment so she was already lost to him. Plus the transfer was locked into place. On top of all that, he was sick to death of fighting it.

He pulled her tightly against him and lay his cheek against hers as she breathed his name. They swayed gently, cheek to cheek, moving as one.

Jack pulled away from her so he could look at her. He gently brushed the hair from her forehead and ran his fingers down her face with the gentlest of touches.

"Close enough?" he whispered.

Phryne let go of his hand and wrapped both arms around his neck. Jack moved his other hand to the small of her back and pulled her against him, just in case she wasn't sure he wanted her and was ready for a night in her bed. She exhaled sharply. She was all his, and he was all hers, for tonight at least.

She put her mouth close to his. "I don't think we could get any closer," she whispered.

He moved his hand to cup the back of her head and saw her eyes widen as he bent down and brushed her lips with his on the way to her neck. He kissed her with slow, wet kisses all the way up to her ear so he could whisper, "Oh, we could definitely get closer."

Phryne moaned loudly; she was far too aroused to bother with decorum. Her heart thumped in her chest and she panted with desire. "Oh?" she said, her voice a little shaky. "And how, exactly, would we do that?"

Jack slid his hands up and down her back, stopping just before her backside.

"Take me back to your cottage and I'll show you," he answered.

She pulled back and stared at him with wide eyes. She was so aroused she was dizzy. "Yes, oh god, yes!"

She put her hands behind his neck to pull him into a kiss, but he resisted. She frowned in confusion.

"Kiss me!"

Jack looked down at her beautiful face, just inches from his and smiled. It would be so easy to kiss her now. He shook his head slowly.

"No."

Phryne frowned. "What? Why?"

Jack chuckled at her worried expression and pressed his forehead against hers. "If I kiss you now I may not be able to stop."

Phryne smiled in relief. "Jack. That was mean." She slid her hands down to cup his buttocks so she could pull him firmly against her. She smiled at the strangled moan in his throat as she rubbed against him. She gently pulled away and held his hands.

"Give me a few minutes."

She took a step back from him, their gaze unbroken. "Promise me you won't change your mind, Jack. Don't leave me there waiting for you. Do you promise?"

Jack paused, suddenly overcome with the enormity of what was about to happen.

Phryne held her breath as she waited for his answer.

"I promise."

She nodded, then let go of his hands so she could collect her hat and shawl from the bench, not bothering to put them on.

"Well then," she said seductively, looking up at him through lowered lashes, and feeling much more like herself. "See you soon, Jack." She grinned, twirling with a bounce in her step she hadn't felt for months, and trotted across the grass, turning just before she reached the trees so she could walk a few slow steps backwards to look at him again, before turning one last time and disappearing into the darkness.

Jack stood rooted to the spot and watched her fade as she moved deeper into the trees. Pulses of what felt like electricity moved through his body and he realised he was trembling. Holy hell. He puffed out a breath to help calm his nerves and sat down, shaking his head slowly and running his hand though his hair. He glanced at his watch to note the time.

He'd never had such a seductive encounter. If he was so aroused by her closeness, how would he be in her bed? Oh, Jesus. He was going to make love to her. Their dance had left him wanting her with a desperation that eclipsed all reasoning and sensible thoughts, all notions of morality and propriety. But now as he sat alone on the seat, he had doubts. Would giving in to his lust make it harder for him to let go?

He sat there, his thoughts coming and going as quickly as his heartbeat. In the end he decided he was tired of thinking of the future and wanted to live in the moment, like she did. Regardless of happened afterwards, they would always have this night together.

He checked his watch. She left five minutes ago. He got up from the seat and took a deep breath. There was no hiding it, he was terrified. No backing out now, he thought as he walked briskly towards her cottage. A promise was a promise.