Survival Guide to Dating Your Boss. Fiona McArthurЧитать онлайн книгу.
there was her job. Tilly ran up the stairs and threw her bag on the purple quilt cover on her bed. Tilly loved being a midwife.
Women were incredible, babies so instinctually amazing, and she could mother the mothers to her heart’s content while they mothered their babies.
That’s what she told Mrs Bennett later in the afternoon. They were clearing up after the girls had gone. Tilly’s singing lessons by osmosis seemed to be working and she and Mrs Bennett were trilling away in the kitchen when the conversation came around to men.
‘To sing that aria you need to be able to sing the love.’ Mrs Bennett never joked about her music.
Tilly sighed. ‘Then I’ll probably never be good at it.’
‘Of course you will.’ Mrs Bennett’s finger pointed skywards to the future. ‘One day you’ll find your man. You can’t go on forever being single.’
Tilly laughed. ‘You are. You’re happy.’
Mrs Bennett twinkled. ‘I’m certainly content. But in a different way from when I was married to the love of my life.’ She looked at Tilly. ‘You can’t miss out on that.’
Tilly shrugged. ‘I always seem to go for the wrong guys. Seriously, I’ve nothing against men as friends but after the last two I guess I’m not really geared to be answerable to a man.’
Mrs Bennett fixed her with a stern look. ‘They were too old for you, dear. And they lied.’
‘You’re right. That’s what Ruby said. But look what falling for men does to my girlfriends. Even my mother was another casualty. I’m going to stay the sensible one cruising as a single woman for a few years. Travel the world. There’s a lot I want to do and it’s much less stressful.’
‘Very wise,’ said Mrs Bennett, and she smiled.
On Sunday morning, when Tilly caught a glimpse over the fence of a tall, black-haired stranger lurking around Mrs B.’s back window, her heart jumped at the recognition of danger.
She glanced back at her own house but the other girls were out and not due back for a while.
Her hand slid up to rest on her chest, ridiculous thought he’d hear her heartbeat, but for the moment it was up to her—someone had to protect Mrs Bennett.
Dry mouthed, she glanced around for a weapon, something, anything for protection, and then she saw it. Tilly’s fingers closed around the pointed red beanie hat of the small but stalwart garden gnome at her feet and she eased him out from the damp earth under the hydrangea. The cold concrete sat heavily in her hand.
She chewed her lip. She really didn’t want to maim the man, just slow him down a bit so he couldn’t get away before the police arrived. With her other hand she flipped her phone and dialled emergency. At least she had a back-up plan.
Mrs B.’s ground-floor window screeched in protest and the material of the man’s T-shirt stretched across his broad back as he tried to ease the window up quietly. A tall, well-built man should be throwing bricks on a truck for a living, not trying to rob defenceless old ladies. Tilly refused to be distracted by the tug of nervous suggestion that flight might be a better option than fight, judging by the ripple of musculature under the thin fabric.
He was trying to get into the house and Mrs Bennett was in there. Tilly felt a swell of pure rage surge with a helpful dose of adrenalin and she heaved the gnome with a straight-arm throw over the fence towards the backs of his legs. The gnome flew horizontally like an avenging angel and took out both backs of his knees in one blow.
Because the burglar had stretched up, his legs were locked and the muscles contracted with the blow.
Tilly stifled a nervous laugh when Goliath sat awkwardly back on the wet grass on top of the gnome and swore loudly.
Great job, Tilly congratulated the gnome, and backed back around the side of her house out of sight as she flicked the damp earth off her hand. She couldn’t help the big grin on her face and the hormones rushed around her body until she fanned her face with her phone for relief.
The police call centre chattered and her hand froze as she remembered. She brought the phone to her lips and murmured quietly. ‘Yes, I’m Matilda McPherson. I’d like to report a burglar at 73 Hill Street, Coogee. Mrs Bennett’s backyard.’
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? I’m fixing the window, not breaking in.’ Like an avenging archangel the man had found her and his dark blue eyes blazed. ‘I’m her nephew.’
He reached his long arm out, snatched the phone, threw it on the ground and for one horrible moment Tilly thought he was going to stamp on it.
Instead he drew an enormous breath, which incidentally did amazing things to the ripples under the front of his T-shirt, and glared at her with the most virulent disgust and even loathing.
Shame, that, a tiny, impressed voice whispered as Tilly quaked just a little at his ferocity.
Now she could see his face it wasn’t the face of a criminal. He was very angry but he wasn’t going to physically assault her. She didn’t know how she knew that but despite Tilly’s brain chanting ‘Good time to leave’ in an insistent whisper, and despite the thumping in her chest that agreed in rhythmic beat with her brain, she couldn’t allow him the satisfaction of thinking he intimidated her.
Before she could say anything he ground out, ‘I should sue you for assault.’
Yep. Daunting up close, especially with steam coming out of his ears, and Tilly blinked as she rallied. Maybe it was sensible to leave. ‘Assault? A little woman like me? With a gnome?’
She tossed her hair to disguise the tensing of her muscles as she prepared to fly. ‘Should look good in the local newspaper. Maybe they’ll take your picture with the weapon?’
She watched with interest as his mouth thinned—might have been a better idea to keep her smart mouth closed—and then the moment when she was about to run was lost when Mrs Bennett poked her head over the low fence. ‘Ah. Children, I see you’ve met.’
Mrs B. smiled beatifically as she came around the corner. She carried the gnome close to her chest and handed it gently, like a tiny baby, to Tilly.
‘Look who came to visit at my house,’ she said just as a siren began to wail in the distance.
Tilly glanced at the man’s face. Apparently the siren just topped off his day.
By the time the police sergeant had laughed his way back to his patrol car Marcus was considering climbing back upstairs to his bed and pulling the lavender-scented sheets over his head to start the day again. Instead he closed his eyes. Mainly because it removed the smart-mouthed redhead from his sight before he strangled her. From the fond look on his aunt’s face the redhead was clearly a ‘favourite person’, and, to be fair, he supposed it was a good thing she looked out for Maurine.
‘I am sorry.’ The woman stood beside him on his aunt’s veranda to see the policeman off. Didn’t she have a home to go to?
He almost groaned. That’s right. She did. And it was far too close to his at the moment.
To add insult to injury, she then said, ‘Do your legs hurt?’
His lashes lifted only slightly as he glared at her. He forced the words past his teeth. ‘I’m fine, thanks. If you’ll excuse me.’
Marcus closed his eyes and sighed. If the rented flat fiasco hadn’t happened, if the closest hotel hadn’t been solidly booked for a week-long conference, if he didn’t start work on Monday, if, if …
He ground his teeth and then decided it indicated a lack of control. Marcus liked control, relished it, had seen what could happen when it was lost, and he needed control to breathe.
He wasn’t sure how he and his aunt would rub together, but if he remembered correctly from that one Christmas after his sister had died Aunt Maurine had been a safe haven