She wasn’t saying no.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘He’s offered you a job? So what was an unemotional mutual benefit one night stand is now going to amount to you mixing business with pleasure. Since when was that ever a good idea?’
Izzy took a sip of her latte, leaned in towards Shauna across the coffee shop table and lowered her voice.
‘I don’t see it that way. It’s a one-off job, four or five weeks at the most. I’m charging him full-whack, not mates-rates. And there’s no tacit agreement that we sleep together. There was just this undertone in the conversation that made it clear: if it happens, it happens. What might go on between the two of us has nothing to do with work.’
‘You’re deluded,’ Shauna said. ‘The job is his way of keeping you exactly where he wants you.’
‘For the hundredth time, this is about what I want, not what he wants. I get an easy gig one-off job that’s well-paid and a no-strings fling until I get bored with it. What’s not to like?’
‘Watch my lips,’ Shauna pointed to her own peach-glossed pout and spoke slowly and clearly. ‘He no longer qualifies for the no-strings-successful-fling rule.’ She held up her hands and shook her head as if she was disengaging from the whole thing. ‘It will all end in tears. Almost certainly yours.’
Izzy tried and failed to stop the automatic here-we-go roll of her eyes.
‘What an absolute load of crap!’ she said. ‘The no-strings-brilliant-fling or whatever-you-bloody-call-it rule is just some womens’ magazine nonsense. I am in total control of my own life, my own decisions and my own emotions. If I want to extend the fun a bit, where the hell is the harm? Now that I know he’s single and neither of us wants anything serious, who the hell is going to get hurt in a scenario like that?’
‘But he’s offered you a job, right?’
‘Yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.’
Shauna threw exasperated hands up.
‘You’ve changed the whole dynamic. You can’t just mess about with the rules to fit whatever suits you. This is different. At the beginning it really was a true no-strings fling – one night, no surnames, no contact details. You know him now. There’s an obligation involved – you have an obligation to him. Which means he is in control. When you pare it right down, what you’re doing now is banging your boss.’
Izzy stared at her, speechless for a moment. Then her temper loosened her tongue and her opinion took over.
‘He is NOT my boss! I am self-employed and in any case the work agreement between us is beside the point.’
‘It’s his way of keeping tabs on you without giving up anything in return, can’t you see that? Any normal, decent bloke would have asked you out to dinner.’
‘You’re overlooking the fact that a dinner date with a load of poncy small talk is my idea of hell right now. I have absolutely no desire to get involved with anyone again anytime soon, not after Joe. What I want is to concentrate on building up the business and having fun. You’re seeing this whole thing as being driven by Oliver and you’re wrong. I’m in charge here. And with him I can I enjoy some fantastic sex without having the emotional dump. What’s not to like?’
‘I’m just trying to look out for you,’ Shauna said quietly.
Izzy curbed her temper and lowered her voice.
‘I know you are,’ she said. ‘And you needn’t worry. The only way this is going to move forward is on my terms. I’m in total control. No emotional investment involved.’
She sounded utterly convincing. To Shauna and to herself.
****
Oliver watched as Izzy walked the perimeter of his garden, such as it was, notebook in hand, stopping occasionally to write something down. She looked very different to the smartly dressed young woman from the garden party, but there was something undeniably sexy about the scruffy jeans and work boots she was wearing with her hair tied loosely at the back of her neck, hiding the long legs and the smooth curves underneath. She looked as if she wouldn’t give a toss about getting dirty, about her appearance.
The way she responded to him was beyond anything he’d known before, that lack of inhibition, her determination to experience every moment to its full. He wasn’t ready to drop that yet, and when he did it would be him that dropped it, not her. Offering her this job was the perfect way of keeping her within easy reach while not having to risk any part of himself. On a sliding scale of ties it was way down below dating or friendship. A work contract had a professional detached quality that was comforting.
Plus, the garden really did need sorting out. And her work was inspired.
She was here now on his terms and based on their last meeting she would be expecting him to make some kind of move. Which was exactly why he would keep her hanging. Not that he wasn’t sorely tempted, good thing in fact that he’d deliberately arranged to see her in a very tight window with work commitments on either side. However much he might want to start the add-on part of their contract, there was no way he could do that today. Let her wonder what his game was.
His staring obviously didn’t escape her.
‘A bit of confidence wouldn’t go amiss,’ she said. ‘You’ve hardly said anything so far, you don’t exactly seem excited by my ideas. You haven’t handed your garden renovation over to Laurel and Hardy, you know. I do know exactly what I’m doing.’
He shook his head as if to clear it.
‘Sorry. I’m perfectly satisfied that you’re more than capable of handling the work. I just have a lot on my mind.’
What it might feel like to peel those work clothes off her.
‘Work?’
‘Always,’ he said, glancing at his watch. ‘I have a pressing appointment, so let’s wrap this up. You can email my secretary the final details of your specification and quote. Potential start date?
‘Two weeks’ time,’ she said. ‘I have to wrap up my current job and I’ve got scheduled maintenance contracts to keep up for my ongoing clients.’
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘In that case I’ll be away when the work starts.
He pressed a button on his smartphone and held it in front of them. An overstuffed work schedule appeared.
Reading upside down as he clicked through the days, Izzy could see practically every day was taken up with meetings or conferences.
‘Back on the seventeenth after a series of meetings in Manchester,’ he said. ‘So I’ll be away when you get started for a day or two. When I’m around I work quite demanding hours, so I’ll have my secretary supply you with a set of keys for the house, then you can come and go as you need. I assume you don’t have a problem working unsupervised?’
She shook her head faintly. All about work. Whatever she’d expected, it wasn’t this. No reference to anything else going on between them. Not that it was a problem, she could do professional perfectly well.
‘Good. If you need to ask me something you can call my secretary.’
She noticed he didn’t offer her his private mobile number or suggest she drop him a quick text.
‘She’ll pass a message on and I’ll get back to you in due course but unless it’s something major I’d prefer not to be disturbed. Just use your own judgement, you obviously know a damn sight more about gardens than I do.’
‘Define something major,’ she said immediately, she’d been caught out before with picky clients.
He sighed.
‘Big remodelling changes that we haven’t discussed today, I guess. I wouldn’t be ecstatic if I came home to find you’d turned my driveway into a lawn, for example. Try not to piss off the neighbours, I can do without the grief, and I like privacy so think high fences and dense foliage. Don’t go chopping down any trees without the nod from me first.’
‘Something on that kind of scale would always be agreed with you at the planning stage,’ she said. ‘You don’t need to worry, I understand exactly what you want.’
‘Do you?’ he said, holding her gaze with a look in his eyes that spoke of a
whole different agenda.
Her heart upped the beat and she licked her suddenly-dry lips.
‘Yes,’ she said, returning his gaze as steadily as she could. Not easy with the distraction of major stomach flutters. The anticipation that he might reach for her at any moment seemed to have focused all her senses on his every move. Both their encounters so far had been so exciting that she couldn’t help wondering how it might be next time. The thought scrambled her mind when she tried to concentrate on making notes.
He turned off the diary listing.
‘You need to be careful you don’t burn out,’ she said.
He glanced at her and she nodded at his phone as he pocketed it.
‘That diary is stuffed beyond all reason. Doesn’t look like you ever take a day off.’
He smiled a little.
‘I don’t. Even if I’m home at the weekend there’s always case files to review, stuff to be done. It’s the way I like to work.’
He began to walk back to the house. She shut her notebook and followed him, picking her way over loose rubble and making a mental note to order in a skip and topsoil. There was a lot of surface rubbish to clear.
‘Why put so much pressure on yourself?’ she said. ‘I mean, you’ve just spent a fortune renovating this house and now you’re having the garden done. From the outside it looks like you’ve already made it.’
He stopped walking.
‘I’ll never make it, Izzy,’ he said. ‘I could work 24-7 for the rest of my life and I don’t think I’d ever feel like that.’
For some reason the way he used her first name made her stomach give a tiny skip. His answer puzzled her.
‘I don’t understand. It’s not like you’ve got to graft all the hours God sends to make ends meet. A top City lawyer? You probably make more in a month than I do in a year.’
He laughed.
‘And I don’t even have to wield a spade.’
She smiled back.
‘I’m serious. What have you got to prove that won’t let you take the occasional weekend off?’
He looked thoughtful for a moment, as if drafting a suitable answer in his head.
‘It all comes down to drive, I guess,’ he said. ‘You can never really be certain of success,’ he said. ‘You’re as good as your last case and things can turn around in a heartbeat. When you take your eye off the ball, that’s when things slide.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with having a good work ethic,’ she said. ‘I mean the hours I’ve put in trying to build up some kind of paying business. It’s just important to have a life outside of work too.’
‘As long as it doesn’t detract from work, I agree.’
She shook her head.
‘All work and no play,’ she said.
‘I play,’ he said. ‘When it works for me. When play is all it is.’
The way he was looking at her, the undertone in the hazel eyes, made her heart beat up the pace as if she’d just run a few circuits of the garden. She braced herself for him to make a move, drew in a breath, and then just as quickly he snapped his gaze away and turned towards the side gate and the front of the house.
‘I have to get back to work,’ he said. ‘Send over your spec and the contract details and I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.’
She stared after him, mind whirling. He hadn’t even touched her, not even to shake her hand. Her nerves were tingling, her body over-sensitised as anticipation dissolved away and worst of all, disappointment stabbed her sharply in the ribs. Definitely not allowed, disappointment would mean she actually cared what happened between them. She shoved the thought away.
Maybe a garden renovation was all he wanted after all.
CHAPTER SIX
Two weeks and the only communication from her had been work related. A detailed graphic spec of his garden that impressed him in its detail and professional presentation, a contract which he’d duly signed and had returned to her along with the generous up front payment she requested. No contact with him on any social level and her continued indifference (be it real or faked) intrigued him as much as ever. The trip back from Manchester was punctuated by vague pangs of excitement, alien to him, as he thought of seeing her again tomorrow and taking control of the other aspect of their agreement.
As he pulled into the drive in front of his house in the twilight, his first reaction was irritation as he nearly ran the Maserati into a half-full skip of garden rubbish. His second reaction was a leap of anticipation deep in his stomach as he saw her van parked to the side of it.
She was still here.
He walked through the house and saw movement outside in the garden.
‘Don’t come any closer!’ she called as he opened the kitchen door. ‘The mud’s horrendous.’
He picked his way into the garden. She was standing in the middle of the area that from memory was earmarked for flagstones. Her work clothes were muddy, she wore heavy gloves and there was sand in her hair. She’d been here for two days and on the whole the garden looked worse.
‘Looking good,’ he said doubtfully. There were piles of rubbish and stones to the side of the space, huge bags of sand and topsoil that she’d had delivered, tools.
She pulled a face.
‘It will be. It’s at the transitional stage. First you strip everything back and rip everything out that needs to go and it looks at its worst. But you have to do that so it can start looking better.’ She wiped the back of her hand across her face, smudging it with dirt. ‘I was just finishing up. Wanted to get this cleared done so the next stage can start tomorrow. I’ll be out of your way in just a minute.’
Her honey coloured hair was caught up in a loose topknot with strands escaping around her face. He realised from the diminishing quality of the light just how late it was. He was tired from his business trip and company was usually low on his list of requirements in the evening. Yet he found something else about her that drew him in, besides that physical attraction that simmered inside him. Getting dark and she was still heaving rubble about? She had a seriously demonic work ethic. And if he could relate to anything, it was that.
‘Stay,’ he said on impulse. ‘Stay and have dinner.’
She shook her head.
‘Thanks but I’ve got a ready-meal at home and a microwave.’
‘It’s no trouble. I insist.’ He turned his back against any further protestations she might have and led the way into the house, talking over his shoulder. ‘To be honest, I’d like the company. It’s been a heavy day.’
Izzy stared at his back, unsure now of where this was going. There had been no mention of their garden party agreement since she’d started work here, no contact for two weeks beyond the signed and returned contract, and now he simply turned up and invited her to stay for dinner. No, insisted she stay for dinner. Was this how it was to be? Did he really want to share dinner with her, or was that just code, a hoop to jump through before he could progress this to a more physical conclusion?
She pushed away the deliberations. Physical desire for him had bubbled inside her since the garden party, as if she could discard him from her mind when she knew one night was an end to it, but now knowing there could be more the hunger for it had grown inside her. She couldn’t seem to help it. And the intoxicating thought of where this might lead between them tonight made her catch her breath. Why should she care whether he wanted her company or just her touch?
She paused at the door as she looked into his pristine kitchen. He hadn’t thought this through.
‘Look at the state of me, Oliver. I’ll walk soil and brick dust all through your house. What am I going to do, sit on a newspaper? It’s been a long day and I need a shower.’
He smiled at her, that protest-melting lopsided smile.
‘I’ve got one of those,’ he said. ‘You can shower while I cook. Top of the stairs, first on the left. There’s a spare robe on the back of the door, you can borrow that if you’ve got no change of clothes.’
She hesi
tated a moment longer.
‘Come on, by the time you get home it will be seriously late. And you have a ready-meal and a microwave?’ He shook his head pityingly. ‘It’s dinner, not a proposal of marriage.’
She left her work boots by the back door and went upstairs.
First door on the left was the most beautifully finished bathroom she’d ever seen. Showroom polished, it looked as if she was the first person ever to use it and perhaps she was, he’d only just finished the renovations. In keeping with the Victorian fixtures, there was a beautiful roll-top bath, painted wood panelling and intricate black and white floor tiles. There were expensive bath products on the side shelf, fluffy white towels, soap in an ornate dish. But it was brochure-perfect, not remotely lived-in. There was no evidence of any female overnight guests. She stepped into the shower and let the water cascade in hot rivulets over her body, soaping her hair and washing off her day.
She toyed with putting her clothes back on – they might be dusty but to put on the bathrobe would be an unspoken message, wouldn’t it? The spare bathrobe was dark blue, man sized and soft against her skin as she shrugged into it. It covered her from neck to ankle but it could be undone with one tug of the tie belt.
Her heart was beating fast. She knew perfectly well what she wanted from this situation. To wear the robe would be to make that clear to Oliver. She was in no danger here, there were no ties, no commitment, she knew his intentions and she knew her own. Her heart was safe. She padded back down the stairs barefoot.
The delicious smell of ginger, lime and coriander met her as she re-entered the kitchen. Oliver was sauteing king prawns in a heavy pan. A bowl of fragrant rice stood on the glass table at one side of the kitchen, next to it a salad. A bottle of ice-cold white wine, condensation clinging to it, stood alongside and as she crossed the room he poured her a glass, then one for himself.
Oliver’s fingers touched hers as he handed her the glass and he fought to keep his composure at the sight of her. Swamped in the huge bathrobe she looked fragile, her skin pink from the shower, her hair damp, already reverting to its usual waves, caught up on her head with damp tendrils escaping and clinging to the skin of her neck. Not a scrap of make-up on her face, he could see every tiny freckle. Desire began to pool hotly in his abdomen. Had he ever come across someone who appealed to him so deeply on a physical level? The knowledge that he could extend one finger and pull that robe apart, the thought that beneath it she was naked, made him want to discard the food and have her right now.
Your Room or Mine? Page 6