When He Was Bad.... Anne OliverЧитать онлайн книгу.
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 collection 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