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‘Because that’s not really my thing, Your Highness.’

She pulled a face. ‘Shouldn’t I be calling you that?’

He stared back at her without speaking.

‘You’re not just “Tate”. You’re Tate Carrigan, rural royalty. So if either of us gets to be called “Your Highness”, it’s definitely not me.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve done your research.’

‘Hardly difficult,’ she said with a hint of a sneer. ‘I typed the name of your property online, and a tonne of information about your family came up.’

‘And why, exactly, would you be looking for information about my family?’

She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again, glancing around to be sure they were alone. The sun was beating down on her, the heat of the day sapping her of energy by the minute. ‘Do you mind if we go inside?’

He wanted to say no. She could practically hear the word rumbling through that gorgeous head of his. But Tate Carrigan wasn’t just the rural farm worker she’d first presumed. He might have been raised out here, in the middle of nowhere, the wild Outback land of Australia, but his rugged exterior concealed a boy who’d been educated at the most expensive school in Australia, who’d travelled the world, who was raised—she was sure—to follow good manners, even when he really didn’t want to.

Sure enough, he seemed to grind his jaw, but he did step backwards, waving a hand towards the entrance foyer.

‘I was getting ready to go out,’ he said as he shut the door. ‘You’ve got five minutes.’

She ignored the swirling of anxiety that washed through her. ‘This shouldn’t take more than two.’

He crossed his arms over his chest, and she really, really wished he hadn’t, because the casual gesture couldn’t help but draw her gaze lower, to the way his skin was still beaded with moisture from the shower. Her tongue tingled with a sudden, stupid urge to reach out and lick him all over.

‘Go on.’

Her mouth was all dry. His wet skin would definitely help with that.

‘Do you—would you rather get dressed first?’ she asked, breathily.

‘I’m not worried if you’re not,’ he said, but in a tone that showed he knew what he was doing to her—and liked it. Bastard.

She clamped her lips together, glancing beyond him to the painting of a woman walking through a field of grass as the sun set. She was graceful and ghostly, almost other-worldly.

‘This isn’t a big deal,’ she said, trying to find the threads of her rehearsed speech. ‘I don’t want you to think I’m here because I want anything from you.’

He arched a brow. ‘Because you’ve googled my net worth?’

‘That’s definitely not what I googled.’ Though it had come up, of course. It was one of the first things that appeared in articles about the Carrigans. Their power, the companies they owned, the basis for their wealth having been born out of their cattle stations, and then this generation’s acrimonious and uneasy relationship with the late Hunt Carrigan.

‘And could you possibly not interrupt me?’ she suggested. ‘It will be easier to hold my train of thought if you’re not slinging catty little insults at me.’

‘Catty?’ he repeated, a derisive laugh barking from his lips.

She didn’t apologise. ‘As I was saying, I’m not here because I want anything from you. In fact, I’m flying back to the UK tomorrow, so this is really just a courtesy visit.’

‘A farewell tour? You needn’t have bothered, Sarah. I haven’t been losing sleep over wishing you’d stayed.’

Her lips parted in disbelief. ‘You are…why are you treating me like I did something wrong?’

For a second, he looked surprised, and then defensive, but only briefly. A moment later, his mask of ruthless dismissal was back.

‘I’m treating you like someone I had a one-night stand with. Albeit a very, very good one-night stand,’ he admitted, and, despite his disgusting behaviour, something flashed in her belly, a heat she couldn’t ignore.

‘Then I’m sorry for your other conquests,’ she muttered, the words only slightly tremulous. ‘You really are a piece of work.’

A muscle throbbed at the base of his throat. ‘Did I ever say otherwise?’