by Anne Oliver
A cop wouldn’t sneak up on her.
She could smell sweat and dust…. Barely moving, she closed the fingers of her right hand around the handle of the gardening fork which, by a stroke of luck, already lay in the wheelbarrow beside her hip.
Heart jumping, she grabbed the fork with both hands and swivelled to face him at the same time. ‘That’s close enough.’ Her voice grazed the roof of her mouth like the dry leaves at her feet. To compensate, she jutted her chin, aimed the fork in the direction of his belly and hoped he hadn’t noticed the tremor in her hands.
In the windowless shed all she could see was his silhouette. Tall, dark. Broad-shouldered. One bulging arm holding up the doorframe. Why hadn’t she flicked on the light as she came in? She aimed the fork lower, straight at his crotch. ‘I’m not afraid to use this.’
‘I don’t imagine you are.’
There was something familiar about that deep, dark voice which made her stupid heart jump some more, but in an entirely different way. More of a skip.
She jabbed the fork in his direction. ‘You’re trespassing. Miss McGregor’ll be coming out at any moment.’ At least, Ellie hoped she would…or maybe not, since Ellie would be forced to defend the woman as well as herself. ‘She’s probably already ringing the police.’
‘I don’t think so.’ His voice, frost-coated steel, sent a chill down Ellie’s spine.
‘Back off. Now.’ Heart thumping hard again, she lunged forward, rotating the fork’s tines to a vertical position so that they lay a dangerous whisker away from his jeans. From this position he towered over her and it belatedly occurred to Ellie that all he had to do was open his hand and her weapon would be his.
But he didn’t attempt to confiscate it, nor did he step back. As if he knew she couldn’t carry through with her threat, and there was nothing overtly menacing or desperate in his demeanour when he said, ‘How did you get in and what are you doing here?’
‘I used the code Miss McGregor gave me. Did you think I scaled that seven-foot fence?’ She shook her head, realising that was probably what he thought. ‘I’m the gardener—who are you?’
‘You’re Belle’s gardener?’
She drew herself up at the barely veiled sarcasm. ‘That’s what I said.’
‘What happened to Bob Sheldon?’
‘He still comes in to do the heavy stuff.’
This man knew Belle’s name and was obviously familiar with her staff. Still… Ellie’s fingers relaxed some on the fork. Her arms ached with holding the thing but she didn’t lower it. Not yet. ‘You haven’t told me who you are.’
Then he stepped back, into the sunlight, and said, ‘Matt McGregor.’
Brown eyes met hers. Familiar brown eyes. Eyes she’d dreamed about for the past couple of nights.
Her entire body went into lockdown. Oh, no. Not him. Please, please, please. Her Saturday night almost-lover couldn’t be Belle’s nephew. Couldn’t be. ‘What are you doing here?’ Her words came out on a wheeze.
A tiny twitch in his right cheek was the only sign that he recognised her. Her fingers slid off the fork as he took it from her boneless grasp and let it drop to the ground beside him. ‘I might ask you the same question, Ellie. Or should I call you Eloise?’
‘I already told you, I work here. And only Belle calls me Eloise and gets away with it.’ Forcing herself to meet his gaze, she squinted up at him from beneath the bill of her cap. Same eyes—without the heat. Same beautiful mouth. The same mouth that had kissed her crazy. A tremor rippled down her body, her nipples puckered in loving memory.
That mouth wasn’t smiling now.
‘I’m here to keep an eye on things in Belle’s absence.’
By sheer force of will, she drew herself up and attempted casual. ‘Belle’s gone already? I thought she was leaving tomorrow.’
‘She left at six this morning. As you’d have discovered if you’d knocked at the house first.’
She glared up at him. So this was Belle’s hot-shot architect nephew with the million-dollar business—which she’d have known if she’d only looked at his card. What were the odds? She should buy a lottery ticket.
‘Belle sometimes sleeps late,’ she informed him coolly. ‘I like to start early. I usually greet her when she comes outside with her morning coffee. I’m running late today because—’
‘You had to wash your hair?’
How did he know? Her hand rose automatically to her cap and she sighed. ‘Several times, actually.’ But it hadn’t made much of a difference. It was still pink.
‘Ellie.’ The sound of her name rolled out like a boulder over a grassy knoll. ‘Ellie…what?’
She straightened her spine. ‘Ellie Rose.’
‘As in hyphenated?’
‘As in Rose is my surname. My mum’s surname, actually,’ she explained. ‘My father didn’t want a kid so Mum…’ She trailed off. Too much information, Ellie.
‘Well, Ellie Rose,’ he said, still eyeing her as if she might pick up the fork the moment he turned his back. And, by crikey, she was tempted. ‘If you’d come up to the house…’
A sense of foreboding slid through her. ‘Pardon? Belle doesn’t—’
‘Belle’s not here. I’m asking you.’ He inclined his head. ‘Please.’
‘Is this because I didn’t come to work last Friday? I went on a field trip to the botanic gardens and I thought I’d make it up today, so that’s why I’m a day earlier.’
‘Just come with me,’ he said, gesturing towards the house, and she realised her tongue had run away from her. Again. Stress, that’s what it was, but trying to explain would only make it worse. Was it because she’d left him on Saturday night without any explanation?
He was already walking away, his lanky stride putting more distance between them every second. Ellie couldn’t help it; she couldn’t drag her eyes away from those tight jeans clenched around that familiar butt. Temptation on legs.
No, she told herself and darted back into the shed to grab her backpack. Never again. Gorgeous overbearing men were not her type.
Lose the attitude, Ellie. You need the work. Focus on the work. Swinging her pack over her shoulder, she hurried to catch up, the nervous fingers of her left hand twirling around the button on her overalls strap. And wouldn’t you know it—the pesky thing came away in her hand. The bill of her cap bumped into him, knocking it off and sending the brass disc spinning over the grass in front of him. ‘Oops,’ she mumbled to his back. His very broad, very hard back.
He spun around, firm hands closing around her upper arms. She barely had time to absorb their heat and the long lean feel of them before he let her go.
‘My button… Sorry,’ she muttered again, and while she was rubbing away the tingles his touch had wrought, he was bending over and searching for her button in the grass. She watched the muscles flex and roll on either side of that long curve of spine, the enticing sliver of bronze flesh below his T-shirt. She wondered what he’d do if she just reached out now and ran her fingernail across—
He straightened abruptly as if he knew exactly what she’d been thinking. She cleared her throat, attempted a smile and held out her hand. ‘Thanks.’
He didn’t smile back or answer. He was too busy staring at her hair.
And she’d been too busy checking out his butt—his back—to pick up her cap. She swiped it up, aware that her cheeks probably matched her hair by now. ‘Supermarket brands… Never mind.’ She jammed her cap back on. She was never, ever going to put a colour through her hair again.
‘Fairy floss,’ he murmured to himself, still eyeing her cap as if he could see through it.
He dropped the button into her outstretched palm before turning and continuing to the back door, leaving her to struggle with the strap as she followed. She slipped its end through the bib’s buttonhole and tied it into a temporary knot and prayed it held.
The kitchen smelled of lemons, cinnamon and rosemary. A homey room with sparkling red and white china and a friendly c
ollection of ceramic cows on the pine dresser. The fragrant miniature potted herbs on the windowsill had been a gift to Belle from Ellie.
‘Have a seat.’ He pulled out a chair at the table for her.
Their knees bumped as he sat and his eyes flicked to hers, as if he, too, had felt that zing of sensation. She shifted her legs out of harm’s way. Wringing her hands beneath the tabletop, she chewed on her lip to stop herself speaking before he got started on whatever he had in mind.
He set his hands, palms down, in front of him on the table and considered them carefully before he looked at her. ‘I have some questions.’
About Saturday night? Why she’d changed her mind? Rushed off? Not called him?
No. His eyes weren’t asking those questions. This was more like a job interview. It didn’t seem to matter to him that Belle had already hired her. ‘I thought Belle would’ve told you about me.’
While she spoke he pulled out a fancy-looking black and silver electronic organiser and began tapping. ‘Not enough, I’m afraid.’ His finger paused over the buttons. ‘First up, how did you come by this job?’
‘Belle contacted me through an ad I posted in the local paper. And she hired me on the spot because I’m a damn good gardener,’ she finished, leaning back and crossing her arms. ‘That was a month ago, and it must be true because I’m still here.’
He didn’t reply, just continued to study her with a steady, impenetrable gaze. Not a hint of Saturday night’s heat there. Ellie refused to be disappointed. Refused.
Maybe if she explained why he could trust her to do a good job… Leaning forward again, she said, ‘This house holds a special significance for me. When I was a kid my mum and I used to walk past here on the way to the tram. She told me the property had been in my grandfather’s family at one time. The house was a little girl’s fantasy and I loved it—especially the unicorn statue in the front garden. Its horn used to be gold, you know.’
His gaze turned considering. ‘I know.’ He studied her in silence a moment longer, then tapped his fingers on the table. ‘References?’
‘I’ve moved around a lot.’ Call me irresponsible. Her words spoken in part jest, part bravado last Saturday night spun back to haunt her. Racking her brain, she tried to recall what else she’d said, but unfortunately could think of nothing that would instil confidence.
‘Ah, of course, the free spirit.’
She watched those long fingers punch more buttons while heat bled up her neck and her nipples tingled. Those fingers had—
‘No references. Your address and phone number?’
Her gaze whipped up to his face. That tiny muscle twitched in his jaw again but his eyes betrayed nothing. Not a thing. The heat continued to rise, suffusing her cheeks. She twisted restless fingers around the locket at her neck. ‘Look, I really don’t see that this is any of your concern. I’m Belle’s employee, not yours.’
‘Belle can be a little too naive sometimes. I’m making sure she’s taken care of. Address? Phone number?’
‘Belle has them.’
‘She’s incommunicado. What if something comes up? I need to be able to contact you.’
Holding his gaze defiantly, she snapped out the information.
‘What days do you work?’
‘Wednesdays and Fridays and I alternate Mondays and Tuesdays, but—’
‘I value responsibility. Belle values responsibility. You call yourself irresponsible. So I’m wondering where that leaves us. Or more to the point, where it leaves you. I’d like you to think about that while you’re working here.’ He leaned back in his chair and placed his hands on the table. Interview over.
Thank goodness his unfathomable dark eyes didn’t drop below her face. Thank goodness her chest was hidden beneath her overalls, because no way her skinny T-shirt would have been enough to hide the sudden way her nipples begged for more of that attention he’d given so generously Saturday night.
But then the cool business facade disappeared. His eyes thawed to a warm chocolate, lips curving into that lazy smile she’d seen across a crowded nightclub. ‘Now we’ve got that out of the way,’ he said in that deep sexy tone she’d been fantasising about in her daydreams. ‘Have dinner with me tonight.’
CHAPTER THREE
DINNER? She stared at him, incredulous. He looked genuinely serious. ‘Excuse me? You expect me to go to dinner with you?’
‘Why not?’
‘After that…that inquisition?’
‘You need to understand my first concern is for Belle. But we’ve discussed the terms of your work here. I’m satisfied—’ plucking a violet from the little vase in the centre of the table, he twirled it between his fingers ‘—with the business aspect of our relationship.’ He flashed her a look that had her heart rate picking up again.
‘But we haven’t talked about the personal. We need to. If we don’t, it’s going to get in the way.’ He leaned towards her, tucked the violet behind her ear, just beneath the edge of her cap. ‘Never mix business with pleasure, Ellie.’
Her insides rearranged themselves at the intimate tone of voice. She didn’t want business or pleasure with this man.
Liar. Okay, it wasn’t wise or sensible to have anything more to do with him—certainly not pleasure. Already un-sensible thoughts were racing through her head.
Which reminded her of Belle’s comment over a coffee break one day. Matthew’s always been a bit of a playboy when it comes to the ladies, or some such. Ellie hadn’t taken much notice—until now. Well, she did not intend to play second fiddle to anyone, ever again.
‘I’m thinking I’ll give this job a miss until Belle returns,’ she said slowly. She placed her hands flat on the table and forced herself to meet his eyes. ‘It’s probably best for everyone concerned.’ Particularly Ellie. ‘I don’t think the employee-employer relationship bit’s going to work for us.’
His jaw firmed; his gaze turned thoughtful, then speculative. ‘In which case, there’d be no reason not to have dinner with me, would there?’
She shook her head. ‘I still can’t have dinner with you.’
‘If you’re worried about your hair…mishap, we can dine in.’
Oh, way to charm the girls, Mr Ladies’ Man.
She tugged the bill of her cap lower, tossed him a narrow-eyed glare and didn’t deign to reply.
Or maybe it was just her. She bet he wouldn’t say that to the type of high-maintenance, high-class Yasmine look-alikes he probably dated. He’d told her he was in Melbourne for a couple of weeks. Saturday night proved he was simply out for a good time, and if she hadn’t left when she did they’d have ended up in bed. And that would have been a monumental mistake.
Pleasure had definitely been on Matt’s agenda, but if that wasn’t going to happen, so be it; he intended keeping his promise to Belle. Somehow he needed to keep Ellie happy in her job and ensure she stayed on. And what better way than to keep her close, keep an eye on her? Smiling at her, he switched to his most persuasive tone. ‘Ellie, it’s just dinner. I’d like your company this evening.’
Unmoved, she met his gaze squarely. Her eyes were the most amazing colour—amethyst with a sprinkle of gold dust… Bewitching…
Focus, McGregor. ‘Okay, you may as well know up front. Belle asked me to look out for her employee while she’s away. I’d like to be able to tell her I’ve done so.’
A tiny frown furrowed between her brows. ‘I don’t need looking after. Why would she ask that of you?’
Wouldn’t we both like to know? ‘Seems she’s grown very fond of you and was concerned about you working at the house alone. Since I was going to be around, it seemed like a good solution.’
She waved a dismissive hand. ‘It’s all irrelevant because I have to work tonight. At least Red’s Bar doesn’t give their employees the third degree. I was hired on the spot, no questions asked.’
‘Red’s Bar.’ Surely they’d eat a girl like her alive? ‘That’s not a reputable bar and it’s not in a safe part of tow
n.’
‘Some of us can’t be choosy. Some of us need cold hard cash to pursue our dreams.’
He didn’t bother telling her he’d been there, done that and had the scars and papers to prove it. ‘And what’s your dream, Ellie?’
‘To build my own landscaping business. Oh, and did I tell you I’m studying landscape and garden design? In modules. When I can afford it. At the rate I’m going I should be qualified in the next fifty years or so. Which is why I need Red’s pay packet at the end of the evening.’
Landscaping business. He nodded to himself. Good, honest work. But what job did she hold at Red’s? he wondered, eyeing the defiant lift to her chin. Kitchen hand, bartender, waitress? Or pole-dancer, like his long-lost mother? The thought made him feel physically ill, with a whole bunch of complicated emotions he didn’t want to think about whenever his mother came to mind.
But the stubborn image that gyrated before his eyes had his blood plummeting below his belt. If Ellie chose to pole-dance, he wanted it to be for him. In private.
Back on track. He cleared his throat and chose the safest option. ‘Waiting tables?’
‘Yes, waiting tables, what else would it be? Oh…’ A rosy pink bloomed on her cheeks—those apple cheeks that had blown him away the first time he’d met her. When he’d just had to kiss her…
Ignoring his body’s response, he focused on the valid reason he was still pursuing this line of questioning. She was playing in an adult playground—did she know the rules and, more importantly, the dangers? But perhaps she was already an experienced player. After all, he hardly knew her.
He knew he wanted her.
Her heightened colour intensified. ‘What?’
‘How long have you worked there?’
