Читать книгу Hired: Mistress: Wanted: Mistress and Mother / His Private Mistress / The Millionaire's Secret Mistress - Шантель Шоу, Carol Marinelli - Страница 12

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 last 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.

‘Hi, Alex.’ Matilda smiled at the little girl, not remotely fazed by the lack of her response, just enchanted by her beauty. ‘I know it looks a terrible mess now, but in a few days it will look wonderful.’

Alex didn’t even appear to be looking—her eyes stared fixedly ahead. A little rigid figure, she stood quite still as Matilda chatted happily to her, explaining what was going to happen over the next few days, pointing out where the water features would be, the sand pit and the enchanted castle.

‘You’ve got a lot done today,’ Dante observed. ‘What happens now?’

‘The boring stuff,’ Matilda answered. ‘I’ve got the plumber and electrician coming tomorrow and then the concreters, but once all that’s out the way, hopefully it will start to take shape a bit.’ And though she longed to ask about his day, longed to extend the conversation just a touch longer, deliberately she held back, determined that it must be Dante who came to her now—she’d already been embarrassed enough. But the silence was excruciating as they stood there, and it was actually a relief when Dante headed over to his daughter and went to pick her up.

‘Time for bed, little lady.’ Something twisted inside Matilda at the tenderness in his voice, the strong gentle arms that lowered to lift his daughter. But Alex resisted, letting out a furious squeal that pierced the quiet early evening air, arching her back, her little hands curling into fists. Matilda’s eyes widened at the fury that erupted in the little girl, stunned to witness the change in this silent, still, child. But clearly used to this kind of response, Dante was way too quick for Alex, gently but firmly taking her wrists and guiding her hands to her sides.

‘No!’ he said firmly. ‘No hitting.’

With a mixture of tenderness and strength he picked Alex up, clasping her furious, resisting body to his chest, utterly ignoring the shrill screams, just holding her ever tighter. Finally she seemed to calm, the screams, the fury abating until finally Dante smiled wryly as he caught Matilda’s shocked eyes. ‘Believe it or not, I think you just received a compliment. Normally I don’t have to even ask to bring her in from the garden. Perhaps she is going to like it after all.’

Two compliments even! Matilda thought to herself. Was Dante actually saying he liked her plans as well?

‘I’ll take her inside and get her to bed.’ Matilda gazed at the little girl, now resting in her father’s arms. Not a trace of the angry outburst of only moments before remained, her dark eyes staring blankly across the wilderness of the garden. ‘Are you finishing up?’

‘Soon.’ Matilda nodded. ‘I’m just going to pack my things.’

‘You’re welcome to come over for dinner…’

‘No, thanks!’ Matilda said, and she didn’t offer an explanation, didn’t elaborate at all, just turned her back and started to pack up her things.

‘It’s no trouble,’ Dante pushed, but still she didn’t turn around, determined not to give him the satisfaction of drawing her in just to reject her again, just to change his mind or hurt her with cruel words. ‘I just warm the meal up tonight. Janet has her Alcoholics Anonymous meetings on Mondays and Thursdays.’

‘But she said she had…’ Matilda swung around then snapped her mouth closed, furious with herself for responding.

‘Everyone has their secrets, remember.’ Dante shrugged then gave her the benefit of a very wicked smile. ‘Come,’ he offered again.

‘No,’ Matilda countered. This time she didn’t even bother to be polite, just turned her back on him and started to sort out her things, only letting out the breath she had been holding when, after the longest time, she heard the click of the gate closing. Alex didn’t just have her father’s eyes, Matilda realised, she had his personality, too. They shared the same dark, lonely existence, cruelly, capriciously striking out at anyone they assumed was getting too close, yet somehow drawing them in all the same, somehow managing to be forgiven.

A cold shower mightn’t be so bad, Matilda attempted to convince herself as she gingerly held her fingers under the jets. All day she’d been boiling, all day she’d longed to cool down—but the trouble with her line of work was that there was absolutely no chance of a quick dart in the shower. Her hair was stiff with dust, her fingers black from the soil, her skin almost as dark as Dante’s.

Biting down on her lip, Matilda dived into the shower, yelping as the icy water hit her. Forcing herself to put her head under, she frantically rubbed in shampoo, praying that in a moment she’d acclimatise, that the freezing water might actually merely be cool after a couple of minutes’ more torture. Only it wasn’t. Her misery lasted long after she’d turned the beastly taps off and wrapped a towel around her, her poorly rinsed hair causing a river of stinging of water to hit her eyes. Shivering and cursing like the navvy Katrina had hoped for, Matilda groped for the door handle, wrenching it open and storming head first into a wall of flesh.

‘When were you going to tell me?’ Dante demanded. ‘I could hear you screaming…’

Matilda stood in shook. ‘Are you spying on me?’ She felt embarrassed and enraged. Her bloodshot, stinging eyes focused on the walkie-talkie he was holding in his hand.

‘It’s a child monitor,’ he explained with infinite patience, as if she were some sort of mentally unhinged person he was talking down from the roof. But she could see the tiny twitch on his lips, knew that inside he was laughing at her, her misery, her embarrassment increasing as he carried on talking. ‘Janet left a note, telling me about the water. I just read it, so will you, please, collect your belongings so that I can help you bring your things over.’

‘There’s really no need for that,’ Matilda insisted, feeling horribly exposed and vulnerable and also somewhat deflated that even standing before him, her body drenched, clearly naked under a towel, she didn’t move him at all. ‘I’ve got a plumber coming tomorrow…’

‘Matilda.’ He gave a weary sigh. ‘My daughter is asleep in the house alone so could you, please, just…?’ He faltered for just a fraction of a second, telling her in that fraction of time that she had been wrong—that Dante was very aware of her near-nakedness. She clutched the towel tighter around her, scuffed the floor with her dripping foot as immediately he continued. ‘Get dressed, Matilda,’ he said gruffly. ‘I’ll come back for your things later.’

Which really didn’t leave her much choice.