When He Was Bad...

by Anne Oliver

  She didn’t need him or his help.

  Her inconvenient sneeze prompted a tissue to appear in front of her face. She took it with a scowl and a muttered, ‘Thanks.’ She was not going to be that weak, needy, ditzy woman he seemed to think she was.

  ‘Asking for help isn’t a sign of weakness, Ellie.’

  She swiped her nose, then stared at him. Did the man read her thoughts now? ‘I didn’t ask.’

  His face was in profile; his eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses. ‘Because you misplaced my business card and didn’t know how to contact me?’

  ‘Because I…’ She let her head fall back and rolled her eyes up to the car’s interior light. ‘I have Belle’s home number. If I’d needed to, I could’ve contacted you.’

  ‘And if I’d left earlier for the office, as I’d intended?’

  ‘Why didn’t you leave earlier—and why are we having this conversation?’

  The moment the car came to a halt near the front porch, she swung the door open. Her dressing gown flapped around her ankles in the wind as she walked up the path. How she must look—bed hair and flannel pyjamas and handbag. Yesterday’s make-up. Rudolph’s red nose and it wasn’t even Christmas. She pressed her lips together. She hadn’t even cleaned her teeth this morning.

  He unlocked the door and ushered her inside. ‘Go on up. Belle always leaves the bed made in case of unexpected visitors,’ he told her, handing her the supermarket bag. ‘I’ll bring you a cup of lemon tea before I leave.’

  She stared at him. Did he not know when to stop? And yet…someone doing something nice for her, looking after her, warmed her insides like Gran’s bread-and-butter pudding.

  His brow rose. ‘Unless you want me to carry you again?’

  She shook her head and walked towards the staircase.

  Ten minutes later Matt appeared with the promised tray of lemon tea, one of Belle’s delicate dishes arranged with sticks of carrot, cheese, olives and celery and an unopened packet of her favourite chocolate biscuits. He set it on the little doily-covered table beside the bed. ‘Help yourself to anything in the fridge. Get some sleep. I’ll be back by teatime.’

  ‘Thanks. I…appreciate it.’

  He reached for her hand and for a furious pulse-beat she thought he was going to bring it to his lips, but he pulled out a pen and wrote a string of numbers on the inside of her wrist.

  ‘If you need me,’ he told her.

  And just like that her whole body melted at the subconscious message those words conveyed. She closed her eyes. ‘I’ll be all right.’

  When Ellie woke, her stuffy head had cleared somewhat and her throat was a little better, courtesy of the cold-and-flu medication Matt had included on the tray.

  Early-winter gloom had plunged the room into semidarkness, but rather than the dank chill of her apartment, the afternoon sunshine’s warmth still lingered in the room, the fragrance of fresh linen filled the air.

  And for a moment she was a little girl again, in her own bedroom with the fairyland wallpaper and chintz curtains. A time when she’d been too young to understand the meaning of loss, or to appreciate the value of family.

  Snuggling deeper into the lavender-scented sheets, she indulged in those long-forgotten memories of safety and warmth, love. All the more precious because once upon a time this home had belonged to her grandfather’s family.

  As she shifted position, she caught sight of Matt’s mobile number on her wrist. Heat flooded through her when she remembered the feel of his hand brushing her arm as he’d penned the numbers.

  And another thought occurred to her. Was it only the history of the house or was Matt also partially responsible for bringing all these feelings to the surface?

  She’d seen a different side to him over the past couple of days. He might be hot, but whether she wanted to admit it or not, there was a comfortable warmth there too. A warmth that had nothing to do with sexuality and everything to do with the kind of man he was. The kind that made you want to cuddle right up and share…what? Your deepest secrets? Hopes and fears?

  How could she reconcile that with the sexy Matt who made her want to cuddle up and share a whole lot more than confidences?

  Matt was also a take-charge kind of guy. How would that translate in the bedroom? she wondered, her mind straying into forbidden territory. Would he expect to make all the moves? Or did he like to lie back sometimes and let a woman do the work? Her body tingled, grew languid at the new and dangerous direction her thoughts had taken.

  Until she remembered that he’d had a date last night. The feeling seeped out of her, leaving a cold empty space in the pit of her stomach. Probably someone like Yasmine from the office. Tall, career-oriented, killer body, long smooth straight hair. Unlike her own flyaway frizz that hadn’t seen a pair of straighteners in the past forty-eight hours.

  She needed to ignore that warm cosy feeling that kept creeping up on her whenever she thought of Matt’s caring side. She needed to ignore those hot forbidden fantasies that sprang to life whenever he looked at her.

  He wasn’t in Melbourne for long, she reminded herself. She only had to survive a few more days, and in the meantime she’d give him no reason to think she was interested in pursuing what they’d started any further.

  So it wouldn’t be a problem when he left.

  And she’d go back to her life the way she preferred it. No-one with promises they didn’t keep, no unrealistic expectations, no broken heart.

  Alone.

  Safe.

  The house was in darkness when Matt let himself in around 6:00 p.m. He headed straight for the guest room, a strange anticipation twirling through him like streamers at Sydney’s Mardi Gras parade.

  A glimmer of light slanted across the hallway. Her door remained partially open as he’d left it. The lamp on the night stand, dimmed to its lowest setting, cast subtle shadows over Ellie. He’d intended asking her what she fancied eating but quickly decided she needed sleep more than sustenance.

  Her hair formed a curly halo around her face; long lashes rested on porcelain cheeks. The top button of her pyjamas had slipped undone, revealing the gold locket she always wore nestled in her dusky cleavage. Beautiful.

  And vulnerable.

  He should step back, give her privacy, but his eyes refused to look away. His feet held fast and his hand tightened around the edge of the door.

  He wanted to cross the room, brush his hand over her hair and enjoy its texture. To skim her cheek, lay his lips on hers and reacquaint himself with her taste.

  He imagined her waking to his touch. Amethyst eyes blinking up at him, turning dark as he slid his palms between flannel and warm skin. Then he’d soothe that innate caution she seemed to have with soft words, softer kisses. His fingers itched and his mouth watered.

  He dragged his gaze away from the bed to the darkened window while his thoughts drifted back to yesterday. She wasn’t as carefree and irresponsible as she’d initially have had him believe. And perhaps she wasn’t the type of woman he could easily walk away from without it playing on his conscience.

  He’d need to make it clear that there was no chance of anything serious developing between them. He didn’t do long-term. He’d been unable to give Angela the happy-ever-after marriage and children because long-term commitment didn’t work—he’d been witness to that too many times to count. He knew Belle’s heart had been broken when the man she’d loved had walked away, even though she’d never discussed the details.

  And the innocent kids when two people decided they’d had enough—where the hell did that leave them? Ellie’s father. His own mother. He didn’t want to hurt Ellie the same way.

  Didn’t mean he wanted her in his bed any less. As soon as she’d recovered, he told himself.

  The following morning Matt stood at the kitchen window watching the rain while he scooped up cereal, racking his brains for a reason other than gardening to keep Ellie here for the day. Assuming she was well enough. Hoping she was recovered because ha
ving her sleep so near that he could practically hear her breathing was playing havoc with his libido.

  Ellie appeared in the doorway, already showered and dressed in her tracksuit. Her complexion was pale, her nose still red, but other than that, she looked…like Ellie.

  He couldn’t believe the way her presence lifted the kitchen’s ambience. And his mood. ‘Good morning.’ He hefted the coffeepot. ‘You’d be feeling like a coffee, I imagine?’

  ‘Hi. Yes. Please.’ She walked a few steps, hesitated. ‘I didn’t mean to sleep all night. Sorry if I inconvenienced you in any way. I intended going home.’

  ‘I hardly knew you were here.’ Yeah, right. He’d not been able to think of anything else. For most of the night he’d been uncomfortably awake and aware that she’d been a few quick steps down the hall. He set a mug of coffee on the kitchen table. ‘How are you feeling this morning?’

  ‘Much better, thanks.’

  ‘I’ll let you know now, I don’t expect you to work in the rain.’

  ‘Oh. Good.’ She picked up the mug but remained standing. ‘So, I…’

  ‘So, I…’

  Both spoke at the same time. She raised her mug at him. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I was going to say if you’d like to work today and you’re feeling up to it, I’ve got an indoor job for you.’

  ‘Oh?’ Relief crossed her expression. ‘Great. I could do with the extra money.’

  ‘The downstairs windows could do with a wash. I’m sure Belle would appreciate it.’

  She smiled. ‘Just show me where the gear is, point me in the right direction and I’ll get started.’

  ‘No rush. Finish your coffee while I make you some breakfast.’

  ‘You don’t have to go to all that trouble, the caffeine hit’s fine.’

  ‘Belle would skin me alive if I forced you to work on an empty stomach. How does scrambled egg sound?’

  ‘Wonderful, but I can do it if you need to be somewhere….’

  ‘I’ve got a luncheon appointment but that’s hours away. Why don’t you find what you need in the laundry and set up while I cook?’

  Ellie set to work as soon as she’d eaten the meal Matt had prepared for her, which had been every bit as tasty as she’d expected. To her relief, he didn’t sit with her while she ate because a business call came through requiring his attention.

  She started in the dining and living rooms, admiring the exquisite cream, rose and jade furnishings against the dark antique furniture as she set up the stepladder and got to work.

  Next she chose a cosy little room down the hall which would catch the afternoon sun and give hours of pleasure on a cold winter’s day. Bookcases overloaded with classics lined one wall.

  Another shelf was crammed with fifties memorabilia. A selection of old vinyl 45s sat atop a small record player. Bill Haley’s ‘Rock around the Clock,’ Pat Boone’s ‘Love Letters in the Sand.’ The Platters, Elvis.

  A photo album caught Ellie’s eye. On the front was a black-and-white image of a teenage Belle. Ellie recognised the shape of her face, the wide eyes and broad cheekbones. But the hair was a surprise—pulled back in a curly ponytail, not unlike her own unruly locks. She was dressed in a full-skirted gingham-checked dress cinched at the waist with a wide belt and wore a heart-shaped locket around her neck.

  Ellie’s fingers tangled in the slim chain of her own locket which had belonged to her mother. A tingle danced over her nape, as if someone had stroked a finger down her spine.

  Shaking the sensation away, she set the album back in place. But for just a heartbeat or two she’d been mesmerised by the image and a strange feeling that she was missing a piece of a puzzle.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A SHORT time later she was halfway up the stepladder when Matt appeared to inform her he was leaving. He wore a white shirt, silver-grey silk tie, dark trousers and a chocolate-brown suede jacket. Smelling fresh and masculine and entirely too sexy to be heading out to anything remotely concerned with business.

  But then…he hadn’t mentioned business, had he? Only that he had a luncheon appointment. Which was open to all manner of interpretation.

  Something slithered through Ellie’s belly and coiled tight around the top of her already stuffy chest, making it hard to breathe. Something that felt horribly, unimaginably like… possessiveness. Her fingers tightened on her little bucket of water, her other hand clutched the top rung of the ladder. No. It was not that. No way.

  She saw his brows pull down. ‘Are you okay?’

  And before she could blink he’d crossed the room and was beside her, his face too close, his hands reaching for her shoulders. With Ellie on the ladder, they were the same height. His eyes almost lined up with hers. His mouth was… too close.

  ‘You startled me, damn you.’ Damn his luncheon date. And damn her dumb reaction. She jerked away from his touch. A few drops of water splashed out of the bucket and onto his shirt.

  ‘Ah…’

  ‘Yes, ah.’ He took the bucket from her nerveless fingers, set it down out of harm’s way, then straightened to face her.

  Biting her lip, she stared at the damp splotch, but then her traitorous gaze shifted to the dark hairs barely visible beneath the fine textured fabric. To his neck, and the pinpricks of newly shaved stubble. His Adam’s apple.

  She sucked in a breath, bringing the scent of his aftershave with it, and she forgot all about luncheon dates and being snippy.

  She was too busy being turned on.

  An image of her loosening his tie, slipping his buttons undone and spreading his shirt open, sliding her hands between fabric and olive skin danced behind her eyes. Setting her mouth to that masculine throat…

  Swallowing hard, she dragged her eyes away…and up…to meet a pair of dark assessing eyes. ‘Sorry—’ she lifted one finger of her free hand ‘—about the shirt.’

  He leaned nearer. She could see flecks of hazel in his dark irises. A tiny bald patch in his left eyebrow.

  ‘What are you going to do about it?’ His breath whispered against her mouth, a current of energy arcing between them.

  ‘Um, I have a dry cloth somewhere….’ She didn’t try to find it. Sparks. She was sure there must be sparks.

  ‘Won’t help.’ He slid his free hand over her shoulder, traced a line over her shoulderblade. Used the move to draw her closer. She could feel his masculine heat and strength radiating off him. ‘Ellie?’

  Her legs threatened to give way. They weren’t even touching but his lips were heating hers, making the blood rush to her cheeks, sending those sparks sizzling through her blood. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Kiss me.’

  Her breath stalled in her throat. ‘What?’

  His deep chuckle vibrated along her bones. ‘You know how it goes. You put your lips on mine and I…reciprocate.’

  ‘I’m working. And it’s business hours.’ But, oh, the temptation. It tingled on her lips, her tongue. Tap-danced over her skin and twisted through her limbs.

  ‘I won’t tell the boss.’ He leaned in, lips puckered. ‘Your call, Ellie. You’re in the driver’s seat with this one.’

  She huffed, ‘Fine, then, if it’ll get you to leave quicker,’ and leaned in to meet him.

  Hah. From the instant their lips touched, any notion that she held the upper hand was whipped away by a blast of astonishing masculine know-how. She should have known better with a man like Matt McGregor. In a response that screamed need, Ellie relinquished that control. She wanted more—craved it as his hands cruised up and down her spine, as he tilted his head for better access.

  Her mouth fell open beneath his. She tasted temptation and desire—his and hers. Heard both in the soft throaty sounds scrambling up her throat. Felt it in the heavy hardness that rocked against her belly as his hand slid over the curve of her buttocks and tilted her toward him.

  It should have been enough, this fleeting sensory indulgence; temporary was all she knew he was looking for. It should have been enough for her too.

>   But he lifted a hand to cup her jaw as if he held antique china, and the determination behind her resolve melted like frost on grass on a bright winter morning. This man was… more. Dangerously more.

  Because he drew emotions from her that she’d learned to keep buried down deep, that she no longer wanted to acknowledge. The warm feeling of being wanted, valued as a person. Cherished, even, for who she was. She’d become an expert at holding that part of herself back until Matt McGregor had strolled into her life. And it came at a price. Vulnerability.

  She yanked herself out of his hold. Gripped the ladder with both hands. Her arms felt leaden, her muscles had turned to water. And it was only marginally comforting to see that he was as breathless as she. That his eyes blazed with the same heat she was sure hers signalled.

  But his interest was skin deep. And that heat would cool soon enough, she knew. It always did. Turning away, she reached for the cloth she’d left on top of the ladder. ‘You’ll be late for your luncheon appointment.’

  Who he was meeting was none of her concern. They’d kissed. So what? It didn’t make them an item. Permanent playboy and gardener did not a couple make.

  ‘Have dinner with me tonight.’

  His deeper-than-midnight voice had her turning back to look at him. ‘Dinner?’

  He shrugged. ‘Why not? It’s after-hours. There’s a new Moroccan restaurant not far away I’ve been wanting to try. Or we can do something else, if you’d prefer….’

  ‘Dinner’s good,’ she said quickly. Dinner was probably the lesser of two evils. The way he’d said ‘something else’ sounded decidedly risky if the way her pulse had tripped was any indication.

  ‘I’ll make a booking.’ He passed her the bucket of water. ‘I’m calling by the office after lunch so I’ll pick you up from your place around 6:00 p.m.’

  ‘Umm,’ she murmured, her mind all over the place. ‘Oh— It’s Friday.’

  ‘Is that a problem?’