The Party Dare. Anne OliverЧитать онлайн книгу.
legs. She looked like the sunflower she was standing next to.
She continued squirting, flicked her long black plait back over her shoulder. His fingers itched to free it from the confines of its elastic band, to watch it shimmer the way it had that moment at the top of the stairs last week, to feel its silky texture against his palms. To bring it to his nose and inhale. Slowly. Deeply.
Pull yourself together.
She was a neighbour, and, right now, a damn nuisance. He’d worked past midnight every evening this week so he could be in Hobart over the weekend to check out some nearby short-term accommodation for himself while the electrician ripped out the guts of this place and installed new wiring throughout. The plumbers were going to be here, and the kitchen renovation crew.
He did not want this woman in his space. Nor did he need her sensual perfume wafting his way and clogging up his sinuses with scents better appreciated in the bedroom.
She plunked the sunflower on the trolley, gave it a drenching. ‘He’d better not be planning any external changes that will affect the value of my home. An elevator, for crying out loud? And if he even thinks about getting rid of that foyer chandelier...’ Her rant trailed off—presumably she was contemplating what she’d do to him in the event.
Wearing skin-tight leather and brandishing a whip.
The image of the two of them engaged in bodily combat flashed before him. The slippery slide of that black leather against his flesh. His teeth finding the vulnerable place under her chin while she screamed in pleasure. He clenched his jaw—he could literally feel his blood pressure spike.
He’d heard enough. He wanted her out of here, now. Before he said, or did, something detrimental to his state of solitary well-being.
Uncrossing his arms, he pushed off the door frame.
* * *
‘Now why would I want to do that?’
The low murmur near her ear at the same instant someone removed her ear buds had Brie practically leaping out of her skin. ‘What the...?’ Fists raised, she spun around. ‘You.’ Her fists uncurled and she lowered her arms to the workbench. ‘You startled me.’
She was still startled, but in an electrifying, breath-stealing way, and her strength seemed to drain out of her under the force of his steely eyed gaze.
He wore casual today—faded denim and a matching soft-looking jumper, and he smelled of warm wool and that indefinable masculine scent she recognised from the last time she’d seen him.
‘Then again, if I did want to do that...’ He didn’t appear concerned that he’d scared ten years off her life and looked her up and down in a manner that wiped whatever she had been talking about from her mind.
‘Do...what? And...and what are you doing here?’
‘Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?’ His voice was all reason and calm. Not to mention husky and low and seductive.
‘I thought George told you about the key,’ she went on, since she did owe him an explanation. ‘And the plants.’ She began picking up pots at random, setting them on the trolley. ‘I apologise, I meant to get around to it during the week but I was busy.’
One dark brow rose, his expression clear. Doing what?
‘You’re not the only one who works, Mr Hamilton.’
He slouched casually against the workbench. ‘You can rest easy—I have no intention of removing the chandelier. The elevator’s not happening and there’ll be no exterior changes—I love the house’s old-world charm and I appreciate that the two buildings share a history, which I believe should be retained. Apart from some electrical and plumbing work, I’m doing some kitchen renovations, which involve shifting a wall about fifty centimetres, but they won’t compromise the integrity of the place. You okay with that?’
She breathed a sigh of relief and slapped a hand to her chest. ‘Thank goodness. I’ve been thinking about you—about it—about your renovations all week.’ Busted. ‘And I’ve been thinking other stuff out loud too, haven’t I?’
No reply as his gaze stroked over her again.
Her blood rushed through her body and heat bloomed beneath her skin. ‘I’ll, um, get out of your way.’ She tossed the rest of the pots onto the trolley willy-nilly. When had she ever been so scatter-brained talking to a man?
‘You wanted me to give you a hand with this one, right?’ He indicated the aloe vera.
He gave no outward hint that he’d heard her ‘friendly as a frozen fish neighbour’ comment, but she knew he had, and cringed inwardly. ‘That’d be great,’ she muttered. ‘Thanks.’
‘Reckon you’ll need to keep it steady,’ he said, lifting it on board the trolley as if it weighed no more than an empty bucket. Which drew her attention to the movement of the muscles beneath his jumper. The way they stretched the wool tight across his chest and bunched beneath the sleeves.
He glanced her way. ‘Your back yard, I presume?’
She shifted her focus to his eyes. Only his eyes. ‘No need for you to bother. I can manage, thank you.’
‘Wouldn’t want that pot to shatter.’
Wouldn’t want her self-control to shatter either. She wanted to be away from him asap. Away from his warm man smell that made her want to burrow against his chest and breathe deep. She didn’t want to like her new neighbour but her body had a mind of its own.
Best to let him play Mr Macho then and get it over with. Get him over with and she could go back to whatever she’d been doing before. If she could just remember. ‘Okay. Thanks.’
They proceeded outside with rattling pots and trailing greenery as he manoeuvred the trolley towards the driveway.
Probably not wise to tell him she’d entered his property this way but, ‘There’s a gap between our fences.’ Brie lifted a chin in the general direction, holding the pot steady with both hands. ‘Carol and I used it to save time. I was going to close it after I got the plants,’ she told him.
When he said nothing, she continued, ‘We looked out for each other. As neighbours should. Don’t you agree?’
‘I’d say it depends on the neighbour.’ They reached the gap and he stopped to inspect it. ‘I’ll organise a tradesman.’
‘Fine. Thanks.’ He seemed so keen to take charge, she’d let him. This time.
‘Which reminds me.’ He held out his hand, palm up. ‘You have my key.’
Brie glimpsed scarring on the inside of his forearm as she retrieved the key from inside an empty ceramic pot and dropped it in his palm. ‘Thanks, it’ll save me a trip to the agent.’ Flipping her hand, she grinned at him. ‘And while you’re at it, you might want to change the security code.’
‘Yes. I will.’
Then he smiled back. Kind of. As if he hadn’t meant to and it was a surprise to him too, generous lips quirking at the corners. She glimpsed a twinkle of humour in his eyes.
Her stomach fizzed, her limbs went soft and her fingers tightened on the rim of the pot as her inner flirt demanded she come out and play. No, Brie told her.
He looked away, resumed pushing the trolley again. ‘So, Ms Black. Breanna—’
‘Brie.’
‘Brie. How do you earn a living?’
‘I’m a beauty therapist. You?’
‘Environmental management consulting.’
Her brows lifted. ‘And what does an environmental management consultant do, exactly?’
‘I freelance to businesses who want advice on their environmental practices.’
‘You