Chapter 1

From Armand’s large, front-facing bedroom window, he could see the lights of Bankstown in the distance. It was a breathtaking view and one he enjoyed bringing friends upstairs to see. Living on the outskirts of town meant a longer drive to work—one of the downsides of buying a property so far from the centre of Bankstown. Yet his was a two-storey, brick and tile home, both affordable and peaceful, since it was located at the end of a street backed by hectares of untouched natural forest. Beyond the trees lay dairy farms, and vast crops of wheat and barley.

That night, however, he was standing at the smaller, side bedroom window, which looked out over his new neighbour’s back yard. Shrouded in darkness, he’d hooked his finger around one edge of the curtain, holding it open a crack. The reason for his vigil wasn’t entirely due to the fact his new neighbour was the most handsome man he’d ever seen, though he couldn’t say it wasn’t a contributing factor. No. The reason he’d taken up position by the window was because his neighbour, for the third night running, was lying on his back lawn, staring up at the night sky.

Curious, Armand searched the sky. There was a half-moon and the usual spray of stars. Nothing exceptional about those. Yet for some reason, the man next door seemed spellbound by the heavenly array.

* * * *

The following morning was Saturday, and Armand could have languished in bed at his leisure. But he didn’t. In fact, it was fortuitous he went outside to retrieve the morning paper when he did, for at the same moment, his neighbour was returning from his morning jog.

“Hello,” called the man.

Armand felt his heart skip a beat. The man was even more gorgeous up close, with his bristly jaw and tanned complexion. His chest, glistening with sweat, was covered with dark hair, which tapered to a narrow line that traced the centre of his abdomen and disappeared into his nylon running shorts.

“Hi there,” replied Armand.

The man held out his hand, then withdrew it and wiped it on his running shorts before proffering it again. “Sorry.” He smiled. “Ben.”

“Armand.”

They shook hands.

“Armand? Pretty exotic name.”

“I guess it is. It was my grandfather’s name. He was French.”

Ben, who was still trying to catch his breath, put his hands on his hips and nodded. “Anyway, I should get to the shower.” He turned to leave. “Nice meeting you, Armand. Come over this evening for a drink if you want. If you’re not doing anything.”

Armand could hardly believe his ears. “S-sure. Thanks.”

He watched Ben walk up his driveway, noticing how his running shorts stuck to his muscular butt cheeks. How the patch of dark hair in the small of his back looked darker and thicker because of the sweat sticking it to his bronzed flesh. Armand could almost picture the damp jockstrap beneath Ben’s shorts. Only when Ben disappeared through his front door was the spell broken, and Armand could continue with his day.

* * * *

The hours couldn’t pass fast enough. All day, Armand had visions of his sweaty, semi-naked neighbour playing in his head, and he completed his housework with an enthusiastic vigour that would have made Mary Poppins seem lethargic by comparison. Yet when the time came to go next door, Armand became nervous.

Just do it,he told himself. The only reason you’re nervous is because you fancy him.It was true. Pretend you haven’t fallen madly in lust with him and get over there.

Armand took a deep breath, grabbed the bottle of merlot he’d put on the kitchen counter earlier, and made the quick trip across the lawn to Ben’s front door. He knocked. His heart started pounding. Footsteps coming towards him. The pounding quickened.

The door swung open and there stood Ben, looking like a vision in a plain white T-shirt, black dress shorts, and a pair of navy loafers on his feet.

“Come in. Come in,” said Ben, stepping aside.

Armand entered, waited for Ben to close the door behind them, then followed him down a short corridor to the kitchen. “I didn’t know what to bring,” he said, “so I brought some merlot.”

“Merlot is perfect.”

Ben’s house was modern, with clean lines and clean surfaces everywhere. There wasn’t much furniture, but what there was looked stylish and expensive. Original prints hung on the walls, and in the kitchen, the appliances were all name brands. And spotless, as if they’d just been taken out of their boxes.

“I thought we might go out on the back deck,” said Ben. “I’ve prepared some nibbles. I hope you don’t mind.”

Armand laughed. “Why would I mind?”

“If you could take this platter out, I’ll bring the glasses and corkscrew.”

Armand picked up the platter, which was deceptively heavy. “Straight through?”

Ben nodded and indicated with his hand. “Straight through.”

There was a mouth-watering array of food neatly arranged on the platter—smoked oysters, pieces of chicken, olives, cubed cheeses, cocktail onions, p?té, savoury biscuits, carrot sticks, and nuts. The thought crossed Armand’s mind that he wouldn’t be needing any dinner.