Breakfast was the one meal he was expert at preparing. Protein and lots of it was required after such an intense workout. So why in hell had he been hit by a craving for banana muffins? He’d wanted one so badly he had sworn he could smell them fresh out of the oven right there in his kitchen.
He’d been forced to phone through an order to a local bakery and have banana muffins express delivered. They tasted nothing like how he had anticipated—dry and unpalatable. There wasn’t a crumb of Shelley’s pie left either. He’d bet she’d bake a muffin that would taste a hundred times better than the ones he’d had delivered and that had subsequently landed in the trash.
His unsatisfied craving had made him grumpier than ever. And that was on top of his craving for her.
Now Shelley wanted to see him to show him something in the garden. Oddly enough, he was looking forward to it. Seeing the garden emerge from the mess it had been was more satisfying than he could ever have imagined. Shelley had vision; there was no doubt about that.
He texted her: I’ll be down in half an hour.
She was waiting for him by the fountain—familiar Shelley in her khaki gardener garb. She coloured high on her cheeks when he greeted her—the previous time they’d met he’d been kissing her.
Inwardly he groaned. He wasn’t good at this. The last time he’d dated a woman had been when he’d met Lisa—and there hadn’t been many before her in spite of what Shelley might think.
‘Notice anything?’ she asked cheerfully.
Other than how beautiful you look—even in those awful clothes?
He nodded. ‘There’s water in the pond.’
‘And it’s not leaking away. It’s been in there for forty-eight hours. I think the pool guys nailed it. Well, not literally nailed it, of course. If they had, it would be leaking more than ever, wouldn’t it? I mean...’ Her voice trailed away.
In spite of his grumpiness he smiled; Shelley seemed to always make him smile. ‘I get what you mean.’
He inspected the pond and its surrounds, now all mellow sandstone free of grime and mould.
‘It looks awesome, doesn’t it?’ she said, eyes wide seeking his approval.
Even if it didn’t look awesome, he would say it did just so as not to extinguish that light in her eyes.
‘It’s awesome, all right. What about the fountain—does it work?’
‘That’s why I asked you down here,’ she said with a flourish of her hand. ‘You are formally invited to the grand ceremonial switching on of the fountain.’
She took him around to the back of the far wall of the pond and showed him a small, discreet box housing a switch. ‘The pump is behind there and all safely wired up to low-voltage electricity. All you have to do is turn it on.’ She paused. ‘Go ahead, you do this. It’s your fountain.’
‘But you’re the driving force behind it,’ he said. ‘The honour should be yours. You’ve put so much into it.’
Her smile dimmed. ‘It’s my job, Declan. This is what I do. And when I finish this job there’ll be another garden somewhere else.’
He ducked down to turn on the switch, hoping she wouldn’t see the sudden pain her words caused him.
Standing beside her—and noting how carefully she kept her distance—he watched as the water started to pump through the fountain, shooting up from the top and cascading down the tiers. The water sparkled as sunlight caught it and refracted off the droplets. Now he knew exactly what she meant about adding movement to the garden. And a different element of beauty. But Shelley was the most beautiful thing in this garden.
‘It’s just wonderful, isn’t it?’ she said softly. ‘I knew it was worth saving. Sometimes the things you have to work hardest to restore become the most valuable.’
‘You’re right,’ he said, his voice suddenly husky.
It was his garden and she a paid employee. But she had put her heart and soul into this restoration.
While he was pleased at how the garden was progressing, he wished he could slow down the progress to give him time to come to terms with what Shelley meant to him. As it was, the days were ticking away until the time she’d pack up her tools and move on.
Unless he stopped her.
Right now he didn’t know how that was possible.
A tiny blue wren flew through the spray of the fountain, fluffing his wings as he went. He was immediately followed by his little brown mate.
‘Oh, look at that,’ Shelley cried in delight.
‘The local wildlife seal of approval,’ he said.
‘I hope everything else in the garden works out as well,’ she said slowly.
‘I’m sure it will. It’s all starting to look very civilised,’ he said.
She took a few steps away from him, then turned back to face him.
‘There’s something else I want to show you,’ she said. ‘Something I... I didn’t discuss with you. I’m hoping it will meet with your approval.’
He was used to her being nervous around his forbidding self. But this was different. She had paled under her light tan and was wringing her hands together. He couldn’t imagine why.
‘You’d better show me,’ he said.
‘Just before I do,’ she said, ‘I want to let you know that I did it with the best of intentions, no matter what you might think.’
His interest roused, he followed her to a prominent bed in an open part of the garden behind the fountain. Looking from the house, he realised it would be in the line of vision from most of the windows of the house.
The stone wall behind the bed had been cleaned and repaired and the two antique planters put back in their place and planted with some spiky-leaved plant.
But that wasn’t what Shelley was showing him. The actual garden bed had been completely cleared of weeds and whatever plants had turned up their toes from years of neglect. The earth had been freshly turned over. He realised this was where he’d seen Shelley digging and planting for most of the morning.
He drew his brows together. ‘They’re plants, I know, but they look to me like a whole lot of brown sticks with a few green shoots here and there.’
‘They’re roses,’ she said. ‘This is a perfect aspect for roses and I hope they’ll thrive here. I’ve planted two varieties of roses here. In late spring they’ll be glorious.’
‘Yes?’ he said. What was the big deal here?
She looked up at him, her eyes a little wary. ‘At the back I’ve planted a vibrant orange and pink rose called “Lisa”.’
Declan’s heart seemed to stop beating and he felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead.
Shelley didn’t seem to expect any response from him as she continued. ‘The smaller bushes in the front have an exquisite pale pink bloom with a sweet scent. The rose is called “Miss Alice”.’
Declan felt as if his throat were swelling to choke any attempt at speech. The grief he’d felt at the loss of his wife and daughter came flooding back. But with that grief came a new emotion of gratitude for the woman who had made this gesture.
‘Thank you,’ he finally managed to get out. ‘It was very...thoughtful of you.’
Shelley expelled a great sigh of relief and he realised the tension she had been holding. ‘The “Lisa” rose is probably what you could call a...a vivacious rose. Like Lisa herself, you told me.’
Shelley’s eyes were misting with tears. His tears had long run dry.
Her voice was so low he had to lean down to catch it.
‘This was Daphne’s garden and the daphne she planted remains a memorial for her,’ she said. ‘Then it was Lisa’s garden and I hope the roses will be a beautiful tribute to her and...and to baby Alice.’
Declan was astounded at how thoughtful Shelley had been. It was something his billions could never have bought. But it was almost too much for him to be able to deal with.
‘Thank you. What you’ve done is...extraordinary. I won’t forget what you’ve done for me. And for honouring Lisa and Alice in this way.’
He didn
’t mean for those words to sound so final but it was the best he could do. His remembered grief was all mixed up with his gratitude for what Shelley had done for him. Something that was so utterly right. He honestly couldn’t think of anyone else he knew who would have the heart, the compassion and the imagination required.
He started to shake and before he knew it Shelley’s arms were around him and he was holding her tight.
* * *
Shelley closed her eyes and leaned against Declan’s hard strength, loving the feel of those powerful arms around her. During those secret, stolen moments watching him work out this was what she’d been wanting.
Was he hugging her—or in his memory was he hugging Lisa?
This was a man who had genuinely loved his wife. So devastated by grief at her loss he was unable to move on.
She had not believed in such love. Certainly had not experienced it. But now she’d seen it, she wanted it for herself.
She wanted it from him. She couldn’t deny that any longer. The lying to herself had to stop.
But was Declan’s love all used up?
It would be a tragedy if that was the case. Not just for him but for her.
Because she was falling for him in spite of the very real risk to her heart.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
WAS SHE IN any way envious of her sister and her fiancé’s happiness? Dressing for her sister’s engagement party, Shelley couldn’t help but question herself about love, life and relationships. Her answer? Maybe.
Not that she wished she had Keith for herself—he was a very nice man but she wasn’t the slightest bit attracted to him. He was perfect for Lynne—they complemented each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Above all they were head over heels in love. Keith was a jeweller and had given Lynne a lovely ruby ring he had designed just for her.
It wasn’t the engagement ring that Shelley envied. The envy thing happened when she’d witness her sister and her guy planning their wedding, the family they intended to have, their future together. They were so darn committed to that future. So certain of each other.
And her? Teetering on the edge of falling in love with a man who had said point-blank he had nothing to give her.
Her sister’s joy brought Shelley’s own situation into focus. She was twenty-eight. Marriage. Children. They were something she’d always thought would happen in the future. When her career was established. When she’d met the right man. But that man had proved to be elusive.
There’d been one proposal—from a guy she had dated during her final year at university. He’d come from a prominent horse-training family and they’d met through their common love of horses. She’d been very fond of him but she’d known fond wasn’t enough even though he’d been what her grandmother had called good marriage material.
More recently there had been Steve—the married man she hadn’t known was married. Afterwards she had beaten herself up for having been so easily deceived. But it had certainly seemed like love at the time. And it had hurt.
And now there was Declan. Not married. But—in a way—still married.
Maybe she needed to have a good long look at herself—did she have a thing for unavailable men? And what could she do about it? Accept steady, nice Mark’s long-standing and often repeated invitation to dinner?
She sighed. How could she when she was already in so deep with Declan even though it seemed impossible? How could she give another man a thought? Declan eclipsed anyone she’d ever met. And it wouldn’t be fair on Mark—or any other man whom she might date.
Her hopes for the future did include marriage and children. But not for the sake of it. No settling for second best, no settling for fond because she feared time was running out. Women had children well into their thirties, their forties even. There was no need to panic. But children were definitely on her wish list, which brought to mind another question. Would Declan ever want to have another child?
But she couldn’t have Declan and she’d better get used to the thought. Even though every time she closed her eyes she saw him bare-chested down in that gym, his powerful muscles, the look of intense concentration on his face she found so sexy. She ached for him.
Lynne was right: she should get out and have some fun.
She viewed herself critically in the mirror, twisting and turning to see the back of her new dress. The cobalt-blue colour alone drew attention but it was the cut of it that had her wondering was it a tad too sexy for an engagement party.
High-necked in the front, it swooped outrageously low in the back, secured by two heavy silver chains that started from the back of her neck and fixed to each side. Thankfully it had a built-in bra, otherwise she’d be too nervous to move in it—let alone dance and party. The stretch jersey fabric was ruched and shaped and very figure-hugging.
But Lynne had insisted she wear it to her engagement party, which was to be held at the luxurious harbourside home of one of Keith’s school friends. ‘There will be lots of single guys there,’ her sister had said. ‘Wear that sassy dress and get your mind off that reclusive boss of yours.’
Shelley had protested but Lynne had spoken over her. ‘Don’t try to hide your crush on Devastating Declan from me.’
Shelley had protested that she did not have a crush. And she hadn’t been lying. She had way more than a crush on Declan.
For a passing moment, she wished Declan could see her in this dress. It wouldn’t hurt for him to see she was more than a down-to-earth gardener in khaki work clothes and an old-fashioned homemaker in an apron who baked pies.
Tonight she didn’t want to look in any way like that person. The dress was a start. Now she had to get her hair right. She ended up with a low side ponytail, secured with a glittery holder, that rested over her left shoulder and left her back uncovered.
With such a bold dress, she took more care with her make-up, darkening her eyes, slicking on deep pink glossy lipstick. She usually wore fairly low heels so she didn’t tower over many of the men she met. But her sister’s engagement party was certainly the occasion to christen the silver stilettos she had bought on a whim but had never worn.
She had promised Lynn she would be early. So she wrapped a light shawl around her bare back and shoulders and picked up a silver evening purse.
Cautiously, in her spiky-heeled shoes, she picked her way over the gravel to where she had parked her car in Declan’s driveway. She muttered a curse when she saw there was a car parked behind it, blocking the way out to the street—a new-model luxury coupe that put her ancient 4x4 to shame. Her car was not just second-hand, it was more likely tenth-hand and the other car made it look like every one of its years.
In the weeks she been working in Declan’s garden she had never seen a car parked here except when the cleaners came. Who drove this car?
Cranky that the delay was making her late, she teetered on her high heels around to the front door of Declan’s house. No time to text. She just wanted him to ask his guest to move that car immediately.
Declan answered the door. She lost all the words that she had prepared to politely ask could his visitor help her out and move the car. It was all she could do not to gawk at him in blatant admiration. Her heartbeat kicked into overdrive and her knees felt distinctly wobbly. How could she have ever imagined she could talk herself out of her attraction to him?
Declan looked hot in his black jeans and cashmere sweaters. He looked especially hot in those gym shorts. But he had never looked more darkly handsome than now in a more formal charcoal wool double-breasted jacket over a black T-shirt and black trousers, clean-shaven and hair brushed back.
She felt a moment of feminine satisfaction that he was getting to see her in the gorgeous blue dress, looking more womanly than he had ever seen her. Reading other people might not be her greatest skill but she was sure he had noticed.
But who was he so dressed up for—the owner of the coupe? She heard a feminine voice from behind him and her heart fell to the level of her silver stilettos.
/> A wave of nausea made her want to double over. Declan had a woman there? This man who had said he was closed to any feminine presence in his life? He had lied to her. He opened the door wider, stared at her for a long moment before he seemed to find his voice.
‘Shelley,’ he said, hoarsely, then glanced over his shoulder. Glanced furtively over his shoulder, it seemed to Shelley.
She still couldn’t see who was there—but his action made it very clear he did not want that woman, whoever she might be, to see her.
She gritted her teeth, injected ice into her voice. ‘There’s a car parked in the driveway that’s blocking my car. Could you please ask your guest to move it?’
The voice from behind him called out, ‘Who’s at the door, Declan?’
A woman came into view behind him. She was older, elegant in a simple wine-coloured dress, with her hair cut in a short grey bob and a expression of curiosity on her face. Declan opened the door further.
He cleared his throat. ‘Come in, Shelley. I’d like you to meet my mother. Judith Grant.’ He turned to the older woman. ‘Mother, can I ask you to please move your car as Shelley can’t get her car out?’
His mother! Shelley was so relieved she had to hold on to the doorframe for support. The action made her light shawl slip to her waist. Rather than make a big deal about putting it back on again, she gathered it up and tucked it over her arm. She shivered as the chilly evening air hit her bare back. But was then met by toasty centrally heated air as she took the few steps she needed to take her into the entrance hall.
Declan’s mother took in her appearance with interest and frank curiosity.
‘Mother, this is Shelley Fairhill, my gardener,’ Declan said.
The older woman’s eyebrows rose in such a similar way to Declan’s, it made Shelley smile. She could see the resemblance between mother and son—the same deep blue eyes and lean face. Though the mother didn’t have Declan’s very masculine cleft in his chin.
Shelley put out her hand. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Mrs Grant.’
His mother’s handshake was brisk and firm. Again Shelley felt self-conscious about her callused hands—but they were a badge of honour of her job. ‘Nice to meet you, Shelley.’
Hired by the Brooding Billionaire Page 11
