Emergency: Wife Needed. Emily ForbesЧитать онлайн книгу.
live together.’
Max held out his hand, accompanying the gesture with a broad smile, flashing his perfect teeth again. ‘Nice to meet you officially, Phoebe.’
Phoebe took his hand. His grip was firm, his palm smooth and cool to the touch.
‘Hello, Max.’ His name suited him and she nearly told him so but fortunately came to her senses just in time. He was looking at her so intently again she couldn’t hold his gaze. She dropped her eyes and focussed on his chest.
He, too, had stripped down to a singlet but she was willing to bet he looked ten times better in his than she did in hers. Broad shoulders protruded from his top and while his neck wasn’t muscle-bound his arms definitely looked as though he spent time lifting weights. She had a weakness for good arms on a man. His singlet top didn’t disguise a well-toned abdomen either. There wasn’t an unnecessary ounce of weight on him.
She glanced down at her own once-white singlet, which was now an unattractive shade of brown, thanks to the fires. Her breasts, which she was convinced were one cup size too large, were doing their best to escape. She raised her eyes again to discover he was watching her, looking amused, as she stood frowning at her grubby top.
An announcement came over the loudspeaker. ‘Attention, attention, 262 and 263 responding to fires west of Lobethal.’
‘That’s me,’ Ned said. ‘I’ll catch you both later.’
Phoebe went up on tiptoe, kissing Ned’s cheek. ‘Be careful.’
Max was watching her again. ‘Have you eaten?’ he asked. Phoebe shook her head. ‘Can I get you a sandwich—ham and cheese?’
She nodded then berated herself as he went to the kitchen. He was upsetting her equilibrium. She never had ham sandwiches. She didn’t even like ham. But she accepted it with thanks when he returned, not wanting to give him any more reasons to think she was a complete fool.
Phoebe sat at a table, pushing a pile of books out of the way to make room for her sandwich. Max pulled out a chair, not waiting for an invitation, not thinking he needed one.
‘How long have you and Ned lived together?’
‘About eighteen months.’
‘So it’s serious, then?’ He and Ned hadn’t caught up much in recent times but it surprised him that Phoebe had never been mentioned, even in passing.
Phoebe frowned at him, her fair eyebrows coming together and creating a little crease in her forehead. ‘Serious?’
‘Living together for that long, it must be, right?’
‘Oh. We don’t “live together”,’ Phoebe said, making quotation marks in the air with her fingers. ‘We share a house. Separate bedrooms.’ She took another bite of the sandwich she seemed not to be enjoying.
‘Jumping to conclusions.’ But even as he spoke, he knew there was no way the thought of sharing a bedroom with Phoebe hadn’t entered Ned’s mind. His reputation as a playboy hadn’t been without basis and Phoebe certainly wasn’t hard on the eye. Tall and blonde, her figure was athletic, with long lean limbs. And she filled out her tank top in all the right places. As if Ned hadn’t noticed!
Maybe she and Ned had had a fling—who was to say otherwise? He tried to get his mind off that topic. It wasn’t any of his business.
Her voice halted his train of thought. ‘You’ve had a hectic introduction to the town.’
‘It was my choice to start early. I like a bit of drama—gets the adrenalin going.’
‘Is there enough drama today to keep you satisfied?’ She was smiling at him but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. He could tell she wasn’t sure about him, yet he’d swear there had been sparks between them from the moment they’d met. Or was that exactly why she wasn’t sure?
‘I reckon today just about covers everything.’ He eyed the pile of textbooks in front of Phoebe. ‘But it looks as though you’re expecting a few quiet moments.’ He spun the pile of books around, reading the title of the top one. ‘French for Beginners. Are you planning a trip?’
‘No. This is my latest craze, learning French. I’ve got a test tomorrow.’
‘Êtes-vous assez fort en Francais?’
She looked at him with a bewildered expression. ‘I have absolutely no idea what you just said. It was French, right?’
They both laughed then and he said, ‘I asked if you were any good.’
Phoebe buried her face in her hands then reappeared with a smile on her face. ‘I guess you already know the answer, but I’ll see if my vocab stretches so far. Non.’
Her smile reached her eyes, she seemed to relax, and Max had to remind himself to act casual and not stare. She’d be attractive no matter what she did, but when her face was graced with a smile—a real, honest-to-goodness laughing-at-herself smile—she was, purely and simply, lovely. Her eyes were pale blue, but in an unusual, not insipid, way and framed by dark eyelashes, which contrasted with her fair eyebrows. When she’d smiled and even now there was a sparkle in them that hadn’t been there before and he knew it was egotistical of him, but he liked the idea he’d been the one to add the extra sparkle. Despite the noise and the crowd in the kitchen, they might have been the only two people there. Her smile had totally captivated him.
‘I’m obviously a total disaster,’ she answered. ‘Can you really speak French or are you pulling my leg?’
‘I can speak it, though I’m getting rusty. I haven’t had much of a chance to exercise my linguistic skills lately.’
She blew some hair off her face and looked downfallen. Adorably so. ‘Did you learn French as a child? Apparently it’s much easier then, and I’m clinging to the hope that that’s why I’m so bad at it, not just that I’m bad, full stop, and too old!’
She didn’t look more than twenty-five but he knew better than to comment on a woman’s age, especially one who was a relative stranger. ‘I spent a few years in Canada.’
‘In the French provinces?’
‘No. In Saskatchewan. I did an exchange program through the fire department. I dated a French Canadian girl for a while—she taught me.’ She’d taught him a few other things, too, about human nature in particular, and he could feel his blood starting to boil at the thought of how foolish he’d been. But it had been a lesson well learned.
‘Do you have any tips to pass on?’ Phoebe’s question brought him back to the present.
‘I watched lots of French movies. It’s a great way to test comprehension and work on the accent.’ He said the words as if in an ad.
Phoebe laughed and her face lit up again. Again, too, he felt that warmth inside that told him he was the one who’d put that light in her eyes. ‘A likely excuse. I’ve always wondered what men see in foreign movies, and an improved accent isn’t high on my list of reasons.’
That was a smile he could very quickly get used to. She had little lines at the corners of her eyes—perhaps she was older than she looked—but rather than detract from her looks the lines gave her face more character. ‘I can’t speak for all men but in my case it was purely educational.’
She held her hands up in mock surrender. ‘I’m not doubting you, I’m sure it helped your linguistic skills no end.’ She was laughing again. Her laugh was infectious. So much so that he wasn’t leaving here until he knew he’d see her again outside work. He wouldn’t usually act this quickly—he’d learnt his lesson there—but something about Phoebe was different. Different enough to make him seize the moment, at any rate.
‘Are you up for a deal?’ She cocked her head to one side, clearly interested. ‘If you play tour guide for me, I’ll help you with your French.’