by Maya Banks
Dante’s manicured gardens were wonderful, but, for Matilda, nothing could beat the raw natural beauty of a neglected garden, a blank canvas for her to work on. It was about the size of a suburban block of land, the centrepiece a massive willow, more than a hundred years in the making, one lifetime simply not enough to produce its full majesty. But that was part of the beauty of her work. A new garden was a mere a sketch on the canvas—the colour, the depth was added over the years, seeds sown that would flourish later, shrubs, trees that would develop, blossom and grow long, long after the cheque had been paid and her tools cleared away.
“Vistas.” It was the first thing that came to mind and she said it out loud, registering his frown. “Lots of walkways all coming from the willow, lined with hedges and each one leading to a different view, a special area for Alex...”
“You can do something with it?”
She didn’t answer, just gave a distracted nod as she pictured the bosky paths, a water feature at the end of one, a sand pit at the end of the other, and...
“A castle,” Matilda breathed. “An enchanted castle, like a fairy-tale. I know someone who makes the most beautiful cubby houses...” Her voice trailed off as she stared down at the ground, her sandals scuffing the earth. “We’ll use turf for now, but I’ll plant lots of different things so that each path will be different—clover for one, daisies for another, buttercups...”
“Will you be able to do it in the time-frame?”
Matilda nodded. “Less perhaps. I’ll know more tomorrow once it’s cleared. I’ve got some people coming at six. There’ll be a lot of noise, but only tomorrow...”
“That’s fine. Katrina has already said she will take Alex out or to her place during the day. You’ll have the place to yourself...” He paused and Matilda wondered if he was going to raise the money issue again, but instead it was a rather more difficult subject he brought up. “I’m sorry she made you feel uncomfortable.”
“She didn’t,” Matilda attempted, then gave in as he raised a questioning eyebrow. “OK, she did make me feel a bit uncomfortable, but it’s fine.”
“I’ll take you and show you the summerhouse. But you don’t have to cook for yourself, you’re very welcome to come over for—”
“I’ll be fine,” Matilda interrupted. “In fact, it’s probably better that I stay there...” Blowing her fringe skyward, Matilda attempted the impossible but, ever direct, Dante beat her to it.
“After what happened on Friday?” He checked and despite a deep blush Matilda gave a wry smile.
“I don’t think Katrina would approve somehow if she knew. She doesn’t even know that we had dinner, let alone...”
“It’s none of Katrina’s business,” Dante pointed out, but Matilda shook her head.
“Oh, but she thinks it is.”
“Matilda.” His black eyes were boring into her, and she could only admire his boldness that he could actually look at her, unlike she, herself, who gave in after once glance, choosing instead to stare at her toes as he spoke. “I will tell you what I told Katrina. I have no interest in a relationship—any relationship. For now I grieve for what I have lost: a wife and the happiness of my daughter.” Still she looked down, swallowing down the questions that were on the tip of her tongue. But either he could read her mind or he had used this speech many times before, because he answered each and every one of them with painful, brutal honesty, his silken, thick accent doing nothing to sweeten the bitterness of the message.
“I like women—I like beautiful women,” he drawled, wrapping the knife that stabbed her in velvet as he plunged it in. “And as you would have seen in the paper yesterday, sometimes I keep their company, but there is always concurrence, always there is an understanding that it can go nowhere. If I misled you on Friday, I apologise.”
“You didn’t mislead me.” Matilda croaked the words out then instantly regretted them. In that split second she understood what Dante was offering her, what this emotionally abstinent man was telling her—that she could have him for a short while, could share his bed, but not his heart. And all Matilda knew was that she couldn’t do it, couldn’t share his bed knowing she must walk away, that deadening his pain would only exacerbate hers. His hand reached out towards her, his fingers cupping her chin, lifting her face to his. Yet she still refused to look at him, knew that if her eyes met his then she’d be lost.
“You didn’t mislead me, Dante, because it was just a kiss.” Somehow she kept her voice even; somehow she managed to keep her cheeks from flaming as she lied through her teeth. “A kiss to end the evening. I certainly had no intention of taking things further, either then or now.” She knew she hadn’t convinced him and from the slight narrowing of his eyes knew that he didn’t believe her. Taking a breath, she elaborated, determined to set the tone, and the boundaries in order to survive the next couple of weeks. She didn’t want to be one of Dante’s ships that passed in the night. “Since Edward and I broke up, I’ve been on a few dates, had a few kisses, but...” Matilda gave a nervous shrug. “You know the saying: you have to kiss a lot of frogs...” From his slightly startled look clearly he didn’t know it. “One kiss was enough for me, Dante.”
“I see.” He gave a tight smile. “I think.”
“It won’t be happening again,” Matilda affirmed, hoping that if she said it enough she might even believe it herself.
“I just wanted to clear things up.”
“Good.” Matilda forced a bright smile, relieved this torture was almost over. “I’m glad that you did.”
“And I’m sorry that you did not enjoy the kiss.” His words wiped the smile from her face, his eyes boring into her. She couldn’t be sure, but Matilda was positive he was teasing her, that he knew she was lying and, of course, she was. It had been the most breathtaking kiss of her life, her whole body was burning now just at the mere memory, but it was imperative Dante didn’t know. He’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in anything more than the most casual of casual flings, and that was the last thing she needed now—especially with a man like Dante. There was nothing casual about him, nothing casual about the feelings he evoked, and if she played with this particular fire, Matilda knew she’d end up seriously burnt. “Because I thought that—”
“Could you show me where I’m staying, please?” Matilda snapped, following Dante’s lead and refusing to be drawn somewhere she didn’t want to go. She turned abruptly to go, but in her haste to escape she forgot about the blackberries. Her leg caught on a branch, the thorn ripping into her bare calf, a yelp of pain escaping her lips.
“Careful.” Dante’s reflexes were like lightning. He pulled back the branch and held her elbow as Matilda stepped back and instinctively inspected the damage, tears of pain and embarrassment filling her eyes at the vivid red gash.
“I’m fine,” she breathed.
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s just a scratch. If you can just show me where I’m staying...” she said. She almost shouted it this time she so badly wanted out of there, wanted some privacy from his knowing eyes, but Dante was pulling out a neatly folded hanky and running it under the garden tap, before returning and dropping to his knees.
“Please.” Matilda was practically begging now, near to tears, not with pain but with embarrassment and want, the thought of him touching her exquisitely unbearable. But Dante wasn’t listening. One hand cupped her calf, the other pressed the cool silk into her stinging cut, and it was as soothing as it was disturbing�
��the ultimate pleasure-pain principle as his hands tended her, calming and arousing. Matilda bit so hard on her lip she thought she might draw blood there, too, her whole body tense, standing rigid as he pressed the handkerchief harder, her stomach a knot of nervous anticipation as she felt his breath against her thigh.
“I’ll just press for a minute and stop the bleeding, then I’ll take you over to the summerhouse...” Strange that his voice was completely normal, that his body was completely relaxed, while hers was spinning in wild orbit, stirred with naked lust, shameful, inappropriate thoughts filling her mind as he tended her. She couldn’t believe her own thought process as she stood there, gazing down. His fingers were pushed into her calf as the cool silk pressed on her warm skin, his breath on her leg as he spoke. And how she wanted to feel that delicious mouth again, but on her thigh this time, almost willing with her eyes for his fingers to creep higher, to quell the pulse that was leaping between her legs, to calm the heat with his cool, cool hand. “I think there’s a first-aid box...”
“I’ll be OK.” She shivered the words out.
“Of course you will, it’s just a cut, but...” His voice faded as he looked up at her, his eyes fixing on hers. And she stared back, trapped like a deer in the headlights, knowing he could feel it now, could see her treacherous arousal, could smell her excitement, knew that she had lied when she had said she didn’t want him.
The silence fizzed between them as he continued to stare, and for that moment the choice was entirely his—reason, logic, had gone the second he’d touched her. If Dante pulled her down now, they both knew that she wouldn’t even attempt to resist...
“Matilda...” His voice was thick with lust, his eyes blatantly desiring her. Thank God he spoke, thank God he broke the spell, gave her that tiny moment to stab at self-preservation and pull back her leg. Her face flaming she turned around, denied absolutely what was taking place, turning and heading for the gate, practically wrenching it open, just desperate for some space, some distance, a chance to think before her body betrayed her again.
* * *
There for the taking.
Those were the words he’d taunted her with on Friday night and those were the words that taunted her now as he led her over to the summerhouse and briefly showed her around.
As the door closed on Dante, not even looking at her surroundings, Matilda sank onto the bed and buried her face in her hands, cringing with shame, as sure as she could be that Dante had witnessed her arousal, had sensed her desire.
What was wrong with her? She wasn’t even, according to Edward, supposed to like sex, yet here she was acting like some hormone-laden teenage girl with a king-sized crush, contemplating an affair with a man who wanted nothing more than her body.
And how she was contemplating! Despite her attempts at indifference, despite her brave words before, she wanted him. But unlike Dante, it wasn’t just bed she wanted but the prelude to it and the postscript afterwards, the parts of him he wasn’t prepared to give.
For the first time she took in her surroundings. The summerhouse was certainly comfortable—in fact, it was gorgeous. A cedar attic-shaped building, tucked away at the rear of the property, no doubt it had once been a rather impressive shed, but it had been lovingly refurbished, the attention to detail quite amazing. A small kitchenette as you entered, and to the left a small en suite with a shower, the rest of the floor space taken up by a large bed and a television and CDs. Janet, the rather prim housekeeper, came over with her bags and filled up the fridge with produce, explaining that the previous owners had used it as a bed and breakfast, but since the Costellos had owned it, for the most part it had remained empty.
“Mr Costello wanted to know if you’ll be joining him for dinner,” Janet said, once she had stocked up the fridge with enough food to feed a small army. “It’s served at seven-thirty once young Alex is in bed, except for Tuesdays and Thursdays. I have my bible class on those nights...”
“No,” Matilda quickly answered, then softened her rather snappy response with a smile. “I mean, tell him, no, thank you,” she added.
“I’ll bring your dinner over to you,” Janet offered, but Matilda stood firm.
“There’s really no need. I’ll just have a sandwich or something, or go out to one of the cafés.”
“As you wish.” Janet shrugged as she headed out the door. “But if you need anything, just ring through.”
Alone, Matilda changed into her working clothes—a pair of faded denim shorts that had seen better days and a flimsy T-shirt, topping the rather unflattering ensemble off with a pair of socks and her workboots. She poked her tongue out at her reflection in the mirror—at least Katrina would be pleased! Grateful for the diversion of the garden to take her mind off Dante, she turned on her mobile, winced at the rather full message bank, then promptly chose to ignore it, instead ringing the various people she would be needing, firming up a time with Declan to bring his bob-cat and confirming the large number of skips she had ordered to be delivered at Dante’s in the morning. Then she headed off to the garden armed with a notebook and tape measure, ready to turn her vision into the plans that would become a reality. She lost herself for hours, as she always did when a project engrossed her, only downing tools and heading for the summerhouse when the last fingers of light had faded, hot, thirsty and exhausted, ready for a long, cool drink, followed by a long cool shower...
But not a cold one!
Yelping in alarm, Matilda fiddled with the taps, but to no avail, realising with a sinking heart that no amount of wishful thinking was going to change things: the hot-water system really wasn’t working. Grabbing a towel, Matilda wrapped it around her and sat shivering on the bed, trying and failing to decide what on earth to do. If she had been here for a couple of weeks to type up notes or fix some accounts then somehow she’d have struggled through, but even if her business cards screamed the words “landscape designer,” at the end of the day gardening was a dirty job—filthy at times. And a fortnight of black nails and grit in her hair wasn’t a prospect Matilda relished. Of course, the obvious thing to do would be to ring Janet and explain the situation but, then, there was nothing obvious about this situation—the absolute last place she wanted to be was crossing Dante’s manicured lawn clutching her toiletry bag! Eyeing the kettle, Matilda rolled her eyes, the irony of her situation hitting home as she filled the tiny sink and swished a bar of soap around to make bubbles—here she was in a multi-million dollar home, and washing like a pauper!
Chapter 5
God, it was hot.
Matilda filled up her water bottle from the tap and surveyed the barren scene.
The morning had been crisp—par for the course in Melbourne. Used to the elements, she’d layered her clothing—gallons of sunscreen, followed by boots and shorts, a crop top, a T-shirt, a long-sleeved top, a jumper and a hat. Up at the crack of dawn, she’d greeted the workers and given her directions. Money wasn’t the problem, time was, so a small army had been hired for the messy job of clearing the site. They all worked well, the skips filling quickly. As the day warmed up the jumper was the first to go, followed an hour or so later by her cotton top, and as each layer of clothing came off Matilda, so too did the garden start to emerge—until finally, long since down to her crop top, the late afternoon sun burning into her shoulders, Matilda surveyed her exhausting day’s work. The subcontractors had finally gone, the skips noisily driven away, leaving the site bare and muddy apart from the gorgeous willow. At las
t she had her blank canvas!
Gulping on her water bottle, Matilda walked around the site, checking the fence, pleased to see that it was in good order. All it needed was a few minor repairs and a spraypaint but there was nothing that could be done this evening—she was too tired anyway. All Matilda wanted to do now was pack up her things and head for her temporary home. Actually, all Matilda wanted to do was leave her things and head for home, but mindful of safety she reluctantly headed over to the pile of equipment. She splashed some water from her bottle onto her face and decided more desperate measures were needed. Taking off her hat, she filled it and sloshed it onto her head, closing her eyes in blessed relief as the water ran down her face and onto her shoulders. Feeling the sting of cold on her reddened face and catching her breath, Matilda delighted in a shiver for a moment, before the sun caught up.
“Matilda.” The familiar voice made her jump. She’d been so sure she was alone, but here she was, soaked to the skin at her own doing, face smeared with mud, squinting into the low sunlight at the forebidding outline of Dante. “I startled you. I’m sorry to barge in.”
“Not at all!” She shook her head and tried to look not remotely startled. “It’s your garden after all—I was just packing up.” Brutally aware of the mess she looked and with two nipples sticking out of her soaking top, thanks to the halflitre of water she’d just poured over herself, Matilda busied herself clearing up her tools as Dante came over.
“I thought I’d bring Alex to see the garden before she went to bed.” He was carrying her, which was just as well. It was rather more a demolition site than a garden at the moment. Dante picked his way around the edge and let Alex down on the one grassed area left—under the willow tree. It was only patchily grassed, but at least it was clean and dry—and given that the little girl was dressed in her nighty and had clearly had her bedtime bath, it was just as well. Matilda gave up in pretending to look at her tools and watched him as he came over. He was wearing shorts and runners—and no socks, which just accentuated the lean, muscular length of his brown calves. His whole body seemed incredibly toned, actually—and Matilda momentary wondered how. He didn’t seem the type for a gym and he spent an immoderate time at the office.