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held up the spare key. 'I opened it.'
    'You know where she keeps the spare key? You appear to be more...intimate with my mother than I'd previously thought.'
    Mitch leaned back in the cushions and grinned. 'Are you implying something, Lizzie?'
    'Stop calling me that and tell me what's going on.'
    'Nothing's going on.' Mitch sat forward and took a swig of his drink. 'I swear. We're just friends. Well, we're kind of partners.'
    'Partners!'
    'In her opal mine,' he explained patiently. 'A few months after I arrived, she needed someone to invest and I was around, looking for a bit of adventure, and so we became partners— well, I'm a silent partner but she lets me have a pick and noodle every now and then.'
    'Pick and noodle?' Elizabeth sank down onto the opposite side of the lounge as it was the only other place to sit, but she made sure she kept well away from Mitch.
    'You use the pickaxe to work out a stream of opal from the rock and noodling is where you sift through the mullock heap to see if the miners have missed anything. You'll see the tourists doing it.' He drank another mouthful. 'Now, I do believe I was going to tell you some of the local folk tales.'
    'Yes.' Elizabeth looked at the bottle before she lifted it to her lips and took a sip. The amber liquid slid down her throat, smooth, cool and very refreshing—just as he'd promised.
    'The miners here are very particular about their claims. One evening, though, a miner had struck a good piece of opal and, exhausted, had left it and gone to the pub for a coldie. Well, he had a good skite about his find and—'
    'I'm sorry. Skite?'
    'Brag.'
    'Oh.' She nodded. 'Please, continue.'
    'Anyway, he bragged about his find and when he went back to the mine, it was gone.'
    'Someone had stolen it?'
    'Yes. Well, instead of getting the police involved, a group of men figured out who the thief was and in the middle of the night they grabbed him, broke his legs and his arms and then threw him down an abandoned shaft. Legend is his body was never found but it's that sort of story which keeps people honest.'
    Elizabeth's mouth was wide open. 'Is this a true story?'
    'Ah, who knows, Lizzie?' He shrugged and drank from his bottle.
    'Elizabeth,' she said tiredly. 'Call me Elizabeth.'
    'Why?'
    'I beg your pardon?'
    'Why? Why don't you like being called Lizzie?' He shifted on the cushions so he was facing her. His knee knocked hers and she shifted backwards.
    'It's not my name.'
    'It's a derivative of your name and it certainly suits you. Knocks some of those hard edges off. Elizabeth...well, it's so formal.'
    'Precisely.' She looked at the bottle again before raising it to her lips.
    'What's the matter? Drink doesn't taste nice?'
    'No. The drink is fine. It's just...' She stopped, realising she'd sound stupid saying it.
    'Just...' he prompted.
    'Just that I've never drunk from a bottle before. My drinks have always been decanted.'
    'Ah...the rough, tough, no-frills bottle. Do you approve?'
    Elizabeth took another sip and swallowed, stalling for time. She realised the double entendre and wondered how important her answer was to him, whether he even cared that his near presence was creating havoc with her pulse. That the instant his knee had accidentally touched hers, her heart rate had started pounding at a faster rhythm.
    She licked her lips. 'It's...different.' She cleared her throat. 'It even tastes a little different.'
    'Hmm.' Mitch's gaze met hers and once more Elizabeth was mesmerised. He put his bottle on the table and leaned towards her, his gaze never wavering. Then, he took her bottle and put it next to his. 'Do you know your eyes sparkle vivid green when you're angry...or excited?' He brushed the backs of his fingers over her soft cheek and she gasped at the touch. 'It's rare and beautiful and I'm enthralled by it. I'll do anything to see that vivid flash—even if it means razzing you up.' His voice had dropped to a whisper and his mouth was drawing closer with every agonising