Saturday 9:23 a.m.  The farm, kitchen

Barely five hours later, over tea and toast, Mark gave Samantha the abridged version of events leading up to their impromptu return home, including what would be announced in the official press release on Monday.  As uncomfortable as it was for him to divulge the details of Russell's private life to a virtual stranger, she was better off hearing it from him than seeing it in the tabloids or on the nightly news.  While she wasn't a member of the family, she was going to be living with them day in and day out for the next three months and Mark wanted those three months to flow as smoothly as possible. 

After discussing all the options, the family had decided it would be best to proceed as close to normal as possible, which included, among other things, keeping Sam on despite the shitstorm of bad press that was about to be unleashed after Monday's announcement.  The truth of the matter was, Sam's trip had been six months in the planning and rescheduling simply wasn't an option at this late date.  Money and contracts had already exchanged hands.  And the reality of the situation was, they really didn't stand on ceremony too much out here.  Life went on, despite Russell's fame.  The farm was certainly big enough for him to have his privacy, even with Sam there painting.  Russell had agreed, albeit reluctantly, and so here Mark was, briefing Sam on what to expect in the coming days. 

Gratefully sipping at her tea after an almost sleepless night, Sam was unusually quiet while Mark filled her in.  As an intelligent, well-traveled person, she had her own perceptions of Russell's love life--or at least what she knew of it through the news and through some discrete checking before she agreed to accept his mother's commission, but she was aware there were always two sides to every story.  Her personal thoughts were a moot point anyway, so she remained silent, nodding in the right places and offering her condolences for what had clearly been a bad situation all the way around. 

Mark had also not so subtly warned her to keep things on a strictly professional level with regards to Russell.  The last thing this situation needed was a badly timed, ill-fated romance, especially with both parties residing under the same roof for the next few months.  Samantha was inclined to agree.  Despite the fact that she found Russell attractive, she was fully capable of maintaining her distance and she told him as much.  She was here to paint.  She did not mix work and pleasure, for reasons both professional and private.  Seeing as how they were airing their dirty laundry this morning, she told him that as well, smiling as his wary expression became warmer.

"Good onya then, love."  He refilled his cup of tea, glad to have that godawful conversation behind him.  "So what's it to be this morning?  The boys showed you any of the land yet?" 

Sam nodded.  "A little.  Mostly just around the house.  My bag should be in sometime tonight so until I have some warmer clothes, I'm staying here preparing the canvases and getting things set up."

Mark had noted the absence of Russell's jersey, but had chosen not to comment until now.  "Sworn off the red and green, then, have you?"  He chuckled.  "That's likely to get you strung up around these parts."

Sam's eyes glittered.  "So will wearing the master's clothes."  This time, she'd fully intended the 'master' comment to be playfully teasing.

Mark choked on his tea.  "Bloody oath, love!  You'll do just fine with this bunch."  Samantha could definitely hold her own.  Thank God. She'd probably need all that and more once the shit really hit the fan.  Russ in one of his moods was a force to be reckoned with.  At least now he knew he wouldn't have to be calming her nerves every five minutes.  With a 'hoo roo' and a wave, he headed out of the kitchen, shaking his head in amusement.  For all the fuss of having her here, she was beginning to grow on him. 

Alone at last in the kitchen, Samantha poured herself more tea and wrapped her hands around the steaming cup as she moved over to the window.  Without the footy shirt she'd been living in for the past day and a half, she was chilled through.  Oh, she knew she'd be fine once she got up and got going, but right now she was cold and sluggish.  Crawling back into bed was getting more and more tempting, but she knew she'd never adjust to the backwards hours here unless she resisted that urge.  However painful it might be.

A few minutes later, Russell appeared in the kitchen looking like she felt.  Well, he looked exhausted at any rate--he was probably warm as toast in that thick red shirt he was wearing, but he looked exhausted all the same.  "'Morning," he rumbled as he poured himself a cup of tea and popped two thick slices of bread in the toaster. 

Samantha looked away from the view long enough to offer a quiet greeting of her own before she turned her attention back to the window and the serene vista.  After the conversation she'd just had with Mark, she felt more than a little awkward and she tried to be as unobtrusive as possible.  Samantha knew it couldn't be easy for him to have a stranger in his home right now, let alone one who'd just been made privy to the closely guarded details of his private life.  While she wasn't ignoring him, Sam gave him as much space as she could, allowing him to decide the level of interaction he wanted with her. 

She couldn't help but smile a little though.  His dogs were at his heels, tails wagging happily, obviously glad to have their master back again.  From the frequent scratches behind the ears the dogs kept getting, it was clear the master was equally glad.  It was a simple gesture, but one that suddenly made him seem a lot less like an unapproachable movie star and a lot more like a 'regular' person.  While Sam was hardly star struck, it would be silly to think his fame had no impact on her perception of him.  However, with each fond pet, he seemed to lose a little of his glitter and become a little more human.  Just a boy and his dogs. 

Samantha would have laughed were it not for one thing.  Nobody would ever mistake Russell for a boy.  He exuded a raw masculinity that unequivocally marked him as an adult male in the prime of his life.  Big.  Raw.  Unpredictable.  Sam took another sip of her tea and tried her best to ignore the thread of desire slowly coiling low in her belly.             

Crossing his arms over his chest as he waited for his toast, Russell got his first good look at Sam in the daylight.  She looked a world different than she had last night, far more reserved and far less approachable.  This morning she had on a lavender t-shirt and jeans, the low rise kind that showed a thin strip of skin at her middle if she moved just right.  God, he loved those.  He tried not to stare at that enticing slice of skin... or at her breasts.  Her thin t-shirt did little to disguise the fact she was quite cold.  No wonder she'd been so attached to his shirt.  He hid a smile.  She'd also pulled her hair up into a loose ponytail and after giving her the once over, he decided he liked her better with her hair down and wearing his footy shirt. 

Still, he couldn't help but admire the curves that had been hidden from view last night by the oversize top.  Although he'd already had a good perve of her legs, he found himself enjoying the rest of her just as much.  She was a beautiful woman.  Not the prettiest woman he'd ever seen, but she had a sensual grace about her that he very much liked.  He took a long hot swallow of tea, and from behind his cup, his eyes moved back to her breasts.  Not for the first time in his life, he wondered if women had any idea what the sight of hard nipples under a shirt did to a man, especially one who hadn't been laid in forever.  Abruptly, his toast popped, halting the direction of his thoughts.  A damn good thing too.  The last thing he needed was to crack a fat before he'd said two words to her. 

He sighed, just as aware of the awkwardness in the wake of her conversation with Mark as she was.  Screw this.  He wasn't about to be uncomfortable in his own home.  He grabbed his toast and the Vegemite and made his way to the table.  His dogs settled again at his feet, well behaved, but still not above hoping for a tidbit.  Russell caved, dropping a few bits of crust before he turned his attention back to Samantha.  "Fancy a cuppa with me?"  Although he wasn't really looking forward to this conversation, having tea with an attractive woman was certainly no hardship.

Sam started to hesitate, but stopped when she saw the earnest look on his face. "All right."  She slid into the chair across from him, still envious of his warm, red shirt and trying not to stare at the thick column of his throat where the heavy stubble of his scruffy beard extended half way down his neck.  Up close, he suddenly seemed like a big male animal, unapologetically masculine and utterly overwhelming.  Her awareness of him only intensified when she realized she could smell him.  He'd obviously just come from the shower.  His hair was still damp and he smelled of soap, smoke and man.  Sam shifted uncomfortably, thankful he was too busy fixing his toast to notice her instinctive reaction to him before she managed to pull her mask of professionalism back into place. 

Russell swallowed a grin.  He was far too familiar with women not to be aware of her reaction to him, but to her credit, she didn't stare at him as if he was a slab of beef.  Actually, she seemed to be looking at everything but him.  Interesting.  He caught her gaze, and smiled.  Hmm...  No fuck-me eyes there, despite the fact that he could tell she was attracted to him.  Honestly, he was a little relieved.  She'd clearly taken Mark's warning to heart.  While he enjoyed the company of a beautiful woman, he was glad this one was keeping her distance.  No man wanted to be uncomfortable in his own home. 

Even as that thought occurred to him, he was a little annoyed she seemed to find it so easy to shunt her attraction aside.  It pricked at his pride, especially considering how much effort it took on his part to do the same where she was concerned.  He wondered how detached she'd be if she knew this morning in the shower, he'd gotten himself off to a fantasy of her.  He bet good money she wouldn't be able to dismiss him so easily if she knew he'd been picturing her on her knees in front of him, his fingers clutching the arms of that damned red chair while her lush mouth worked him, teasing and lapping before he came with a groan and she swallowed down his gift.  But that was fantasy, and right now he had a whole lot of awkward reality to deal with.  A far less pleasurable pursuit, to be sure.   

Swallowing a bite of toast and washing it down with some good strong tea, Russell fiddled absently with his lighter in the uncomfortable atmosphere and then suddenly decided he'd had enough of walking on eggshells around her.  He'd be damned if he'd spend the next three months having awkward silences over breakfast at his own damn table.  He figured he might as well cut right to the heart of the matter.  He'd never been one for idle conversation anyway.  He decided to just let it fly.  "Had a bit of a chat with Mark this morning, love?"  He knew full well she had, but he wanted to see how she'd react.  Above all, he valued honesty and he wondered if she'd give it to him now. 

Sam's cup rattled in its saucer, but only once before she got herself under control and met his eyes with a cool stare.  Her eyes were bright and steady, more grayish really than green now that he'd gotten a good look at them in the light.  Her expression was unreadable.  "Yes, we had a long talk this morning," her eyebrow lifted.  "As I'm sure you well know." 

He was clearly testing her.  Samantha wasn't too sure how to handle the situation.  She didn't know him well enough to know when it was okay to push and when she should rein it in.  His mercurial temper was legendary and she knew she had a bad habit of telling it like it was, without the sugar coating.  It was a habit she'd worked hard to curb, at least within the context of her professional life, but she got the impression he wasn't looking for a professional response from her right now.  He seemed more to want to the response of Sam, the woman, rather than Samantha, the artist his mother had hired.  She wondered if he was prepared for that.  It wasn't always pretty.       

Russell shrugged.  "And?"  He'd abandoned his toast, intent on her answer.

He was pushing.  Her curbing would be minimal at best, she could tell.  Her gaze never wavered.  "And you had a relationship.  It didn't work out.  Now you're home."  A simplified version of events, but apt nonetheless. 

He looked at her expectantly, knowing that couldn't be all.  He lifted his eyebrow, daring her to finish.  She did. 

"It happens every day.  All over the world."  She paused and shrugged lightly.  "I expect you'll manage as well as the next man." 

"The fucking next man doesn't have the press crawling up his arse at every goddamn turn," he growled.

Uh-oh.  Too far.  Oh well, live and learn.  "For that, I'm sorry."  She meant it.  Samantha couldn't imagine living life in the public eye.  She valued her privacy far too much.  "I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

The sincerity in her words soothed his temper.  It was his own fault anyway for pushing her to respond when she was trying to be diplomatic.  At least she'd been honest with him.  A little too honest, maybe, but he was the last person in the world who should be criticizing that particular trait.  He wasn't exactly known for verbal restraint himself.  He nodded, reaching for his toast.  "Thank you."  At his words, she seemed to finally relax in his presence for the first time since he'd met her.  Fucking finally.  Now he could relax as well.  He took a long swallow of tea and sat back lazily.  His dogs shifted around his feet as he stretched out his legs.  He seemed to own the space around him.  It made Sam uncomfortable, even as it attracted her.  "See, you and I?  We just needed to clear the air a bit.  Much better now, wouldn't you say?"

Her eyes sparkled with a hint of the amusement she'd shown him last night, right before he'd lit into her.  "Yes.  Much."  Well, it was better except for that maddeningly intense reaction to his overwhelming charisma.  Bastard.  He had to know what he did to women.  In fact, his casual arrogance said as much.  Sam swallowed a smile.  Cocky men had always amused her.    

His expression grew thoughtful.  "If we're to do it up right, I suppose I should ask if you've any questions after your chat with Mark."  He was reluctant to ask, but he knew it would be better all around of he just got this over with in one go.  And in all honesty, while the rest of the world was just now getting the details, he'd had six weeks to begin getting on with his life.  If he were really honest, he'd known things were headed this way since shortly after their engagement was announced.  They'd given it a good go, but in the end, he knew they'd made the right decision.  It had stung for a while, but he was surprisingly okay with things now.  To tell the truth, he dreaded the field day the press was going to have over the whole thing far more than he'd dreaded the breakup itself.  Well, maybe that wasn't quite true... although it wasn't so much the breakup as it was feeling like he was back at square one, alone again.  Story of his life.  After a long moment of silence, he finally prompted, "So, questions?"

Samantha was very aware the edge was back in his voice.  He clearly did not want to discuss the matter further and in all honesty, there wasn't anything else she really wanted to know.  In the grand scheme of things, what was one failed relationship?  It happened to everyone at one time or another and it was kind of sad that he seemed to expect being bombarded with personal questions.  She grinned at him.  "Just one."

"What is it?"  There was caution in his voice and more than a little ice.

"Will you please pass me a spoon?"

He grinned in relief.  Smart girl.  Some things were better left alone and he was glad she knew her place, or at least knew she shouldn't push--not with this, anyway.  Russell slid her a spoon, watching with bemused interest as she reached for the jar of Vegemite and took a modest spoonful.  He almost asked her if she was sure she really wanted to do that, but one of his favorite things was watching a Yank's reaction to the uniquely Australian food.

Not quite able to keep the smile from his face, he reached for his toast, expecting to be quite entertained as he polished off the rest of his breakfast.  He was absolutely floored when she closed her eyes and licked the spoon with obvious pleasure.  Russell chuckled aloud as another thought occurred to him.  "Oh, I get it.  Very funny."  Well, she could stop pretending now.  No Yank he'd ever known licked it off a spoon like that.  "Mark put you up to this, didn't he?" 

Sam's eyes snapped open and she heard him say something under his breath that sounded a whole lot like 'that fucking wanker.'  She grinned at him.  "No, the 'wanker' didn't put me up to anything."  She twirled the spoon in her fingers and gave it an appraising look.  "I happen to like the way it tastes." 

"Right," he grumped, clearly disappointed he hadn't gotten the reaction out of her he'd been expecting.

Her eyes glittered.  "Would it make you feel better if I made a show of gagging and fell over the table in a dramatic heap?"  She raised an eyebrow at him, absently licking the spoon again while she waited for his answer.

Fuck.  He wished she'd stop doing that before he cracked a fat right here at the table.  "It might."  Russell chuckled.  "So how in the hell did you acquire a taste for the stuff?  It's not exactly your average Yank fare."  You couldn't even buy the stuff in America.  He'd know. 

"I have a girlfriend who lives in Sydney.  We met on the Internet years ago and a large part of our getting to know each other was talking about our cultural differences, and believe it or not, Vegemite actually came up."  Samantha laughed aloud at the memory.  "Anyway, as a joke, she sent me a small jar of the stuff."  Sam's grin grew wider.  "As it turns out, the joke was on her.  Everyone else thought it was the nastiest thing they'd ever tasted, but I liked it."

Russell's eyebrows drew together as if she'd just said the sun was blue.  "Bit of an odd duck, aren't you?" 

Samantha rose from the table, taking the spoon with her.  "You have no idea," and with that parting volley, she saluted him with the spoon and strolled out of the kitchen, laughing quietly as she went, aware she'd just set the very unflappable Mr. Crowe on his ear.       

Russell chuckled to himself as he watched her go, letting his eyes linger on her backside.  Was it his imagination, or had there been a hint of something sexual in her parting words to him?  Probably his imagination, he mused.  She'd been nothing but politely reserved in all her dealings with him to date, despite the fact he could tell she was attracted to him.  A small frown appeared on his face.  While it was true no man wanted to be chased after by an unwanted woman, especially in his own home, he was beginning to regret warning this one off so completely.  The frown deepened.  Despite the spark he'd felt flare between them just now, intellectually, he knew he'd be better off to just leave it alone. 

The only problem with that was, he really didn't feel like leaving it alone right now.  While he certainly wasn't ready to rush head long into any sort of relationship, the truth of the matter was he enjoyed her company.  Hell, he liked women, period.  He liked the way they looked and moved and smelled.  He also knew he was a shameless flirt, a trait that endeared him to as many women as it annoyed.  Unfortunately, that issue was only compounded by the fact that he also preferred deep, intimate conversation to idle chitchat and he was something of a physically demonstrative person by nature.  The problem with this was that not many women understood that just because he flirted a bit and wanted to talk about something more than the weather that it didn't necessarily indicate romantic interest on his part.   

Russell rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and raked his fingers through his hair before pushing away his empty plate.  Maybe what made Samantha so interesting, well, besides her looks and her apparent passion for what she did, was that she was safe--a woman he could talk to, even flirt with a little, who wouldn't immediately assume he was trying to get into her pants.  In fact, he could be just as sure she wasn't trying to get into his.  Hell, she'd told Mark as much in this very kitchen not more than an hour ago.  What a fucking gift that was, to be able to just be a man talking to a woman without all the bullshit of his day job mucking things up--and then he realized that Mark would never have approved her to be here if she hadn't signed some sort of confidentiality agreement.  God, that was like a Get Out of Jail Free card, only better. 

A very indulgent, very male smile spread across Russell's face as he recalled Sam's parting words.  Well, he might not know how much of an 'odd duck' she was just yet, but it looked as if he'd have the next three months to find out.  His smile got bigger.  Not only that, but he was free to do so in true Russell fashion, a prospect he found himself very much looking forward to.