“You got anything that isn’t so, uh, meaty?”

I looked over the hotel restaurant menu, trying to find something light. But everything seemed to be some variation of a cheeseburger, sandwich or steak, and I wasn’t in the mood for anything like that.

“Oh yeah,” said the waitress, a big-eyed teen with strawberry-blond hair and a skinny frame. “You see, anything that’s got meat we can take out. So, we’ve basically got double the menu of what you have there.”

That, of course, raised the question of just what the meat would be replaced with. But it occurred to me the waitress likely wasn’t thinking that far ahead.

“Just give me the chicken salad, but without the chicken. And you have any wine?”

“Oh yeah. We got red, and, um, the other kind.”

“The other kind, please.”

“The other kind it is.”

The waitress headed off, and I pulled my laptop out of my bag, hoping to get some work done while I had some downtime. But once my computer was open in front of me, all I could think about was how I’d blown it. All it took was one stupid tire, and the weeks of work that I’d put into getting this deal lined up had gone down the drain.

The waitress returned in the middle of my internal tirade and placed a glass of chilled white wine in front of me. I took a sip, letting the drink linger on my palate for a moment. It was…good. Grassy, peachy, very fresh—it was better than I’d expect from a tiny town like this. I wasn’t sure if it was the wine or the relief of having something to drink after the day I’d had, but it hit the spot like nothing else

Wine in hand, I glanced around the restaurant, taking in the décor, the interior design striking me as what might be considered classy to someone with tastes that ran a decade behind the trends. Wood booths and round tables were lined on the floor, and the carpet was a deep, almost blood-red—a strange contrast to the purple walls. The lighting was low and moody, and a huge copper bar dominated the back half.

After a time, my salad arrived. I poked at it listlessly, dipping the lettuce into my side of dressing and trying to relax as best I could. I let myself imagine being back in Dallas and seated at my usual table at Matsu’s, the sushi place down at the end of my block. I imagined dipping a cucumber roll into a pool of wasabi and soy sauce and popping it into my mouth, the rice soft and cool and the veggies crunchy.

The thought struck me as strange. Traveling was part of my job, after all—why was I getting so homesick now? I’d spent the majority of the last few years flying all over the world for Horizon, and Longbridge was hardly my first backwater destination. I used to enjoy the thrill of travel, of seeing new places and meeting new people—not to mention the occasional international fling. Was that all beginning to wear thin? I’d had my thirtieth birthday not too long ago; maybe that was why these thoughts seemed lodged in my mind.

Before I could descend into a full-blown existential crisis, I caught sight of someone very, very intriguing come in and take a seat at the bar. He was tall, with a lean and muscular body clad in night-black slacks, a crisp, bone-white dress shirt, and the outfit finished off with a matching suit jacket and a pair of double-monk shoes polished to a mirror shine.

I couldn’t tell his exact age, but he looked to be a few years older than me, perhaps around mid-thirties. A shock of close-cropped, sandy-blond hair topped his head, and his beyond-handsome face was dusted with a few days’ worth of stubble. His gaze flicked to the side and our eyes connected, the feeling of our eyes locking so intense that it felt like electricity.

He’d do very, very nicely.

I stabbed the last bit of my salad and brought it to my mouth, washing it down with the rest of my wine.

“Something else I can get you?” the waitress asked.

I could think of something I wouldn’t mind having served up on a silver platter.

“I think I’ll have another glass,” I said. “But would you mind bringing it to the bar? I’m going to move.”

“You got it, ma’am,” said the waitress before hurrying off.

I stood up and laid my eyes on my prey. He turned a bit to the side, and I could tell by his strong profile that he was definitely worth my time. Once in the seat, I took a sip of the wine that was waiting for me and tried to come up with the perfect opening line.

To my surprise, he beat me to it.

“You ever wonder why they call this place Longbridge?” he asked, his voice low, with the slightest trace of a lovely purr to it. “I don’t think I’ve seen a drop of water in this town that wasn’t in a glass or a plastic bottle. No idea what they’d even do with a bridge.”

To my surprise, his accent was American, not Australian.

“Maybe it was wishful thinking,” I said, looking straight ahead and feeling the heat of his sapphire-blue eyes on me as I spoke. “You know, like Old West towns would call themselves names like ‘Goodsprings’ or something.”

“That, or they’re just very, very confused,” he said. “You’re an American?”

I turned to him, my heart skipping a bit as I took in the sight of him up close. Sure enough, he was as gorgeous as they came. His face was lean and chiseled, with sun-kissed tan skin and full, sensual lips. His nose was slim and aquiline, his eyes narrow and cunning.

“Texas, born and raised,” I said. “Dallas, to be specific.”

His dark, full eyebrows raised slightly.

“No kidding?” he asked. “Same here.”

This was more than a little coincidental.

“Now what’re the damn odds of two people, both from Dallas, meeting here in some tiny town in the middle of the Australian outback?”

“That’s a good question,” he said. “Gets me thinking you might be here to spy on me.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked. “Why’s that? You here on some top-secret business?”

“Sure am,” he said. “Lots of intrigue going on in this town. Like you wouldn’t believe.”

I let out a laugh.

“Name’s Justin,” he said, extending his hand toward me.

I took it, his grip warm and strong. An odd feeling of contentment took hold of me for a moment as my hand rested in his.

“Delaney,” I said. “Though I’m not entirely convinced that’s your real name.”

“I could say the same thing about you.”

“Well, this does sound like the beginning of some spy movie or something,” he said. “Where we find out that we’re both international agents sent to take out the other.”

“You know what?” I said. “That would probably be the most exciting thing to happen to this place in decades.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I hear things get rowdy down at the ice cream joint downtown. They’ve got a two-cones-for-one special on Wednesdays, and you know how these small-town folks get when they’ve got a little sugar in them.”

“I can only imagine,” I said.

I took a sip of my wine, already pleased that I’d come over to talk.

“Seriously, though,” I said. “What are you doing here? Wait a minute—you’re not with Johnson-Harford, are you? If that’s the case, I might actually need to kill you for real.”

“Johnson and who?” he asked, bringing his glass up to his mouth.

Relief washed over me as I realized he wasn’t my mortal enemy.

“Oh, nothing,” I said. “I’m here on behalf of Horizon Oil. I was supposed to finish negotiations for a drilling deal that I’ve been working out for the last few weeks, but I ended up having car trouble on the way here. Long story short, I missed the meeting, and someone from a competing firm swooped in and stole the deal out from under me.”

“Ouch,” he said. “In that case, I’m glad I’m not that guy after all.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked, intrigued by his response.

“Yep,” he said, his eyes giving me a quick, appraising once-over. “You look like the type that doesn’t take defeat easily.”

“And why would you say that?”

“Something about the way you carry yourself,” he said. “You look like the kind of woman who’s professional, but not without an edge.”

“I have been known to bust a ball or two in my day,” I grinned. “Then again, you look like a man who knows how to handle himself.”

And I wasn’t just saying that. Justin was lean and athletic, with a body that looked so finely-tuned that my joke about him being a spy didn’t seem too far-fetched. Even as he sat in the nearby stool, I could tell that there was a spryness to him, like he’d know just what to do if something went down.

“Then let’s hope this conversation doesn’t come to that,” he said.

I let out another light laugh, a smile tugging at one of the corners of my mouth.

“Seriously, though,” I asked. “What brings you to this bustling little metropolis?”

He glanced to the side quickly before turning his eyes back to mine.

“I’m here on business too,” he said. “But I’ve got a different natural resource that I’m exploiting—I’m into logging.”

Something about his answer struck me as…insincere. His body tensed as he spoke, and I got the impression that he was telling me a bit of a story.

“That right?” I asked. “What firm are you with?”

Justin opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, an idea occurred to me.

“Wait, don’t tell me,” I said, holding up my hand. “If you’re in Dallas, then you’re going to be with…DeWall. Or maybe Vanhausen. I bet it’s Vanhausen.”

He raised one eyebrow slightly.

“Nope,” he said. “DeWall. I’m one of their senior accounts managers. Been with them for a decade.”

Now I was more than a little curious. See, us natural resource companies tended to run in many of the same circles—enough for me to be familiar with the logging companies in the area. And the two I’d just mentioned? Both made up. Justin, if that was his real name, was fibbing.

But I didn’t mind. I knew why I was talking to him, and if he wanted to spin a story for me and keep his real reasons for being here hidden, what did I care? Or maybe he was there for logging, and just didn’t want to get into his personal details with a woman he’d just met. Either way, I decided not to pry.

“Something about Texas and Australia,” I said. “They’re really not all that different, are they?”

Justin looked away for a moment, considering what I’d just said.

“You know, that’s a good point. Both deserts, and both have a rugged, independent vibe.”

“Then again, Australia does seem to have more animals capable of eating you, poisoning you, or otherwise causing grievous bodily harm.”

“No kidding,” said Justin. “I had to fight off a pack of koalas on the way here. I made it, but things weren’t looking so good there for a minute.”

I laughed again. Liar or not, Justin was definitely entertaining.

“You really had trouble with those little guys?” I asked. “They don’t look so tough.”

“What can I say? I was having an off-day.”

I smiled, bringing my glass of wine to my lips and polishing off the rest of the drink. Justin had managed to impress me so far—charming personality, and that’s to say nothing of how damn good he looked. He had all the makings of one of my one-off nights of international fun.

A silence hung in the air as we finished our drinks, but it was the good kind—one of those silences where you’re simply regarding the other person, not feeling the urge to say something simply for the sake of speaking. My eyes stayed locked on Justin’s as I set down my drink.

“What do you say for a change of scenery?” I asked.

“Sounds good to me,” said Justin. “What’ve you got in mind?”

“Well, I spotted a lovely little craft cocktail bar just down the road,” I said. “Five stars on my restaurant app.”

Justin opened his mouth to speak but stopped and raised his eyebrows when he realized that I was just being silly.

“I see I’m not the only one with the bad jokes,” he said with a small grin.

“Two can most definitely play at this game,” I said.

“Shall we?” he asked.

“We most certainly shall.”