Читать книгу Untamed Bachelors - Susan Stephens - Страница 12

MATT knocked at the partially open bedroom door. When there was no answer, he entered carefully. He’d found one of Belle’s jumpers, a pair of soft jersey sweatpants and thick socks. As for underwear…She’d have to go commando for now.

And wouldn’t that be something to think about over steak and salad? He should have put the items on the bed and left, but the sweet floral scent seeping from beneath the door was too tempting to resist.

It had been a long time since his own bathroom had smelled like this. Feminine. Alluring. Inviting…

When he and Angela had shared an apartment. His jaw clenched. Those times were over. These days when he took a lover, it was his way or the highway. They used her place. He rarely slept the night. Sleeping implied a degree of intimacy he simply didn’t have. Didn’t want. Didn’t need.

He breathed the scent in again, deeply. What did he know of the girl on the other side of that door? By her own admission, she was a drifter. How long before she up and left? Where did she go and what did she do, and who did she do it with while she was there?

Still…Until then, he didn’t see a problem with them sharing something a little more personal when the gardening tools were packed away for the evening. And he could keep his word to Belle at the same time.

Unfortunately it couldn’t be tonight. He’d organised a meeting with the construction manager on one of his latest Melbournian projects but Cole had been tied up elsewhere until this evening. They’d arranged to meet over a beer later.

He didn’t intend to start something with Ellie tonight and not be able to finish it. When he got her naked, he wanted everything right. He wanted to take it slow, enjoy—

The sound of the bathroom door opening warned him to leave but it was already too late. Ellie wafted out on a cloud of scented steam and he waged a quick tug of war within himself. Her stifled yelp and the way she stood clutching her towel and damp underwear almost had a grin tugging at his mouth.

Until he got a better look at what she held in her hand. Fire-engine-red G-string, matching satin and lace bra. Surprise. Who’d have thought that beneath those ugly overalls…?

Remember Saturday night?

This was that same woman, and his pulse quickened, his mood sobering to something darker as the primitive side of him stirred to life. Her skin glowed a delicate peach. He imagined it was as soft and luscious as it looked. It took all his will not to stride right over there and sample it. Her legs, bared to her upper thigh, were perfection and she reminded him of a long-stemmed rose on a foggy day.

He couldn’t seem to look away. Couldn’t move. Felt as if his body had turned to stone. Inside his skin was another matter. His mouth was dry and his blood was surging south. Somehow he remembered why he was there, cleared his throat and lifted the bundle of clothes in his hands. ‘I’ll just put these on the bed…I’ve put the rest of your clothes in the washing machine. Would you like me to add those?’ He gestured to her bundle.

‘No.’

Her fingers tightened into a fist around it and he got that she was thinking of his hands on her G-string.

He almost groaned aloud. Way bad timing. A fleeting thought that he could ring Cole and postpone darted through his mind, but their meeting was important and he was a professional first and foremost. Business took priority.

‘Okay.’ He swallowed, then continued with, ‘If the trousers are too long you can roll the legs up or whatever…’ He thought it wiser not to mention underwear again.

‘Thanks.’ She didn’t move. ‘Was there something else?’

‘I’m fixing us a bite to eat when you’re ready. How do you like your steak?’

‘Steak?’

‘You’re not vegetarian, are you?’

‘No, rare, and why are we having this conversation right here, right now?’

‘Rare. Okay.’ He made himself step back. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then.’

The instant he’d gone, Ellie rushed to the door and locked it before the man decided to come back to ask her wine preferences. He was fixing steak? For her? For them?

Dropping the towel, she hauled on the clothes he’d provided her with. In front of the mirror, she ran a comb through her unruly hair, then, with no hair straighteners in sight, gave it up as a lost cause. And what did it matter? She didn’t care what Matt McGregor thought. Nor was she going to be impressed—or swayed—by his cooking prowess. She stuffed her damp undies in her backpack and started down the hallway, following the aroma of frying onions.

When she entered the kitchen Matt already had the steaks on the grill and was chopping tomatoes into a salad bowl. His freshly shampooed hair gleamed under the light and he wore another of those soft-looking jumpers.

She looked around for something to do. ‘You want me to finish that?’

‘All under control.’ He inclined his head towards a jug of juice topped with mint leaves and ice. ‘Help yourself.’

‘Thank you.’ She noted he already had one at his elbow and poured herself a glass. She felt dumb standing around without a task so she hefted herself onto a breakfast stool. ‘Do you cook often?’

‘Not as often as I like. Too busy. This week’s going to give me a good opportunity. You?’

‘Hate it.’ She sipped the juice. Freshly juiced orange, pineapple and passionfruit. ‘This is nice.’

‘Juicing it at home’s a vast improvement over supermarket brands. So…Ellie.’ Multi-tasking Matt gave the onions a stir, flipped the steaks, reached for the cucumber. ‘You mentioned you lived around here as a child. Do your parents still live in Melbourne?’

‘No.’ She didn’t want to talk about her parents. It reminded her of how alone she was. But in the ensuing silence she knew courtesy demanded an elaboration of sorts. ‘Mum and my grandparents died in a car accident more than eighteen years ago.’

His knife paused midslice, a measured compassion in his dark eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Ellie. That must’ve been tough. How old were you?’

‘Six.’ A misty image of her mother singing a lullaby stole through her mind and her heart twisted. Even after all this time, the pain would shoot back at the most unexpected times.

‘After, it was just my father and me for a couple of years travelling country Victoria and South Australia while he took the odd job…’ Then played the odd game of chance and lost what he’d earned. She didn’t tell him her father had only come back into her life when Mum had died.

Before Matt could ask, she said, ‘In the end I held him back.’

He looked up sharply. ‘What do you mean, you “held him back”? He was your father.’

‘He couldn’t look for work and care for me.’ But deep down that nine-year-old inside her still cried. He could have if he’d wanted to.

Matt turned to slide the steaks onto two plates, muttering something she was probably better off not hearing. Because then she’d want to defend her father and tell Matt she’d forgive him in a moment if he ever came back. She was that weak.

She often wondered if that’s why she felt compelled to move around the country. Was she hoping to find him? Or was she running from him? Running from any involvement that might tear open those childhood wounds that had never quite healed.

She turned the focus to him, or rather, away from her. ‘What about your parents?’

His lips tightened as he set the sizzling plates on the breakfast bar. ‘It’s just me and Belle.’

Old pain. She heard it in his voice. Tight and angry. Saw it in his avoidance of eye contact. Recognised it because she lived with it herself, every day.

He pushed the salad bowl her way. ‘Help yourself.’

‘Thanks. Avocadoes too—my favourite,’ she said to lighten the atmosphere as she spooned salad onto her plate.

So he didn’t want to talk about it. She understood that. Men didn’t delve into personal and emotional issues. Matt’s mother’s absence in his life—for whatever reason that he wasn’t inclined to share with her—had left scars. As it would, of course. But she had a feeling it went much deeper than grief. There was a bitterness and anger there too.

They ate in silence for a few moments, listening to the sound of the rain lashing the window. The stormy weather had intensified over the past hour.

‘Do you ever—’ The jingle of Matt’s mobile phone in the adjoining room cut Ellie off.

‘Excuse me.’

Matt rose, leaving her alone in the kitchen with a jumble of thoughts running through her head. The family he didn’t want to discuss and the walls he’d erected.

He’d made no attempt to disguise his attraction to her, but obviously that was as far as it went. His interest was purely physical. Unfortunately it was becoming more and more obvious that, for her, it went beyond that. His sheer magnetism drew her, sparking an undercurrent of excitement which flowed constantly just beneath the surface of her skin, so strong she wondered that she didn’t glow in the dark, and leaving her in a perpetual state of anticipation. She’d never known anything this intense.

But despite his unwillingness to open up, he also had a nurturing, caring side no other male had ever shown her. In fact, he could be downright chivalrous, and that was so…attractive. Seductive. Alluring as it was alarming.

Which meant she needed to be on her guard at all times.

His voice carried through the open doorway. She heard the name of a five-star hotel mentioned. And then the lobby at 8:00 p.m. He’d be a little later than they’d arranged. Unavoidably detained…Looking forward to catching up…

Was his tone an indication that he was talking to a woman or did he speak to everyone in that deep velvet voice? She didn’t know him well enough to tell…was this just Ellie being slightly paranoid Ellie?

‘Matthew’s always been a bit of a playboy…’

Something hard and heavy lobbed dead centre in her chest. She jabbed the point of her knife into her half-eaten steak, hacked off a piece, jammed it in her mouth. Why the hell did it matter who he met? She chewed vigorously. Or what he did with whomever it was tonight? At 8:00 p.m. In one of the best hotels in the city.

She tried to swallow but the food lodged behind the knot which had formed in her throat over the past couple of minutes.

‘Meat not to your liking?’ Matt took his seat once more and resumed eating.

‘It’s…very nice,’ she managed and swallowed carefully. ‘Just a bit of a sore throat.’ She reached for her juice to wash it down. ‘I need an early night. In fact…’ She made a show of glancing at her watch, didn’t note the time. ‘I’ll get going. There’s a tram due in ten minutes. I’ll collect my other clothes later.’

‘I’ll drop you home.’

‘Not necessary, I’ve an umbrella in my bag.’ And you have a date.

‘I insist. I have to go out in any case—I’ll drop you off on the way. Just give me a moment.’

She accepted because she really didn’t feel one hundred percent and it was easier than arguing. But she almost changed her mind when he reappeared in dark trousers and a smart charcoal jacket that looked as if it had been tailored exclusively for him. A few wisps of masculine hair were visible at the open neck of his shirt.

He’d splashed on that cologne she’d smelled the other night. Something free and fresh and foresty that reminded her of secret midnight trysts.

She thought about that—and him—when she climbed into her narrow bed after he’d dropped her outside her apartment building a short time later. And reminded herself that permanent playboys were not for her.

Matt rolled over, peered at the digital readout on his clock and swore. Seven-thirty.

He dragged a hand over his face. He felt as if he hadn’t caught more than ten minutes’ shut-eye at any one time. Erotic dreams had plagued him from the moment his head had hit the pillow. The kind of dreams he’d not experienced since puberty.

Ellie was entirely to blame.

Pushing the quilt down to cool his overheated body, he stared at the ceiling’s blank canvas, hoping to rid himself of the images still dancing behind his eyes.

No such luck. It didn’t make a scrap of difference that he’d chatted up a tall well-constructed New York advertising executive after his meeting with Cole. Lysandra. Lissendra? He’d bought her a cocktail and they’d discussed…Global warming. A couple of cocktails on, she’d had a few interesting suggestions to help cure his insomnia. And he’d come close to letting her try.

Until a vision of Ellie Rose wearing nothing but that towel had sauntered into his mind like a siren from days gone by…He sat up in bed, scratched his morning stubble. Damn it.

Since when had he turned down a woman like Lissandra whose requirements ticked all the right boxes? Why would he pass up an opportunity like that for a girl who didn’t want to get involved, despite her eyes and the way she kissed telling him otherwise? A girl nothing like the women he dated.

And that girl would be turning up at any moment, if she wasn’t here already. Easing off the bed, he padded down the passage and into a spare bedroom for a view of the backyard. Low on the horizon, the early morning’s thin lemon sunlight was sliding obliquely between the clouds, glistening wetly on the lawn. He scanned the boggy patch where Ellie had been working yesterday. The garden shed. The back porch.

No sign of her.

She’d be here, he told himself; she wanted the job. Still, he felt oddly disappointed she hadn’t arrived yet. He wanted to see that glimpse of sunshine turn her hair to old gold and watch the jaunty, carefree way she had of moving.

He folded his arms across his chest as chilly air prickled his skin. Yeah, right. Watching her while he stood here naked. Scowling, he scrubbed a hand over his jaw. Lucky for you, you’re not here yet, Ellie Rose.

Meanwhile he needed a cold shower and he needed it fast.

While he shivered and soaped up under the spray, he made a decision. This thing between them needed serious attention. Tonight. Get it out of their systems—two rational, consenting adults—then they could move on.

He turned off the taps, reached for his towel. Satisfied with his plan, he lathered on shaving cream and reached for his razor.

He checked his emails over fruit and toast. Coffee in hand, he made a follow-up call to last night’s meeting with Cole. Then he phoned the office to inform Joanie he’d be in before ten and took the next little while to look over a new project.

When Ellie still hadn’t turned up by nine o’clock he grew annoyed. He paced to the window. The devil of it was, he had no good reason to be so ticked off. Ellie kept her own timetable and Belle hadn’t expected him to wait around. But he was here now, and in Belle’s absence he felt he was entitled to know Ellie’s plans for today. Keep an eye on things. Keep his finger on the pulse.

He swung away. No, not Ellie’s pulse. Although if she didn’t get here soon he might have to throttle her.

He was a busy man. He didn’t have time to…He checked his watch. Nearly nine-fifteen…Didn’t have time to waste.

At ten o’clock he rang Joanie to tell her he’d been detained, that he’d phone again when he was on his way.

Responsibility. They’d talked about it. Ellie had worked two days and been on time. Perhaps that was her limit. He tapped in her phone number. Swore when her phone was switched off. She had no answering service so he couldn’t leave a voice message.

He paced to the window, glared at the front gate. When she arrived he’d tell her his expectations: While he was here, he preferred—wanted—her to keep regular hours…Damn, why wait until she’d arrived? He’d go inform her himself. That way he could drive her here if she was running late.

A short time later he parked and stared up at her sorry-looking apartment building. Daylight showed the dull facade in all its unspectacular glory. Grey peeling paintwork. Dusty windows.

He climbed out of his car and walked to the door. In this instance he was relieved it wasn’t a coded entry—except that anyone could walk in off the street. He took the stairs two at a time and followed a dingy passage until he found apartment number four, then knocked on the door.

No answer. Impatience snapped at him; he barely waited before knocking again, louder, longer. ‘Ellie, are you in there?’

A scruffy-looking sort in a grey hooded jacket with straggly blond hair and teenage fuzz above his upper lip exited an apartment down the hall. Mid- to late teens, Matt figured. The odour of sweat and dirty sneakers preceded the guy as he approached.

Matt’s nostrils flared in distaste. But Ellie had no choice; she couldn’t afford anything better. Matt understood that all too well.

‘She ain’t left yet,’ Scruffy said as he passed Matt.

He studied the youth through narrowed eyes. ‘And you’d know this how?’

Scruffy popped a wad of chewing gum in his mouth. ‘See everyone from my living room window. You dropped her off last night. Night before too. Black Ford, right?’

A twinge of concern jolted through Matt. ‘Do you watch everyone’s comings and goings?’

‘Pretty much,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Ain’t safe round here. It’s just me and Mum, and she’s in a wheelchair, so I keep an eye out.’

‘And you are?’

‘Toby.’ He stuck his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. ‘You Ellie’s new boyfriend?’

‘I’m…Yes,’ Matt decided. One could never be too careful and any woman living alone was always a potential target, even if Toby seemed harmless enough. ‘My name’s Matt. I’ll see you around.’

‘Okay. See ya.’ Toby hunched into his hoodie and headed to the stairwell.

Matt resumed knocking. ‘Ellie, I know you’re in there. Answer the door.’ Finally he heard a muffled sound and the door cracked open. Her face was only partially visible and what he could see didn’t look good.

‘What are you doing here?’ She sniffed, dug a tissue from the pocket of her dressing gown, held it to her nose.

No wonder she hadn’t turned up. ‘You’re ill,’ he said unnecessarily. ‘You should have phoned me.’ He pushed the door wider, took in the dark circles beneath her glassy eyes before closing the door behind him.

‘Why?’ She turned away and headed over the worn linoleum floor towards her bed. She wore flannelette pyjamas under her robe, he noticed, and fluffy pink slippers.

‘To let me know you weren’t coming in…’ His voice was tight and clipped to his own ears. He saw the way her shoulders drooped and softened it with, ‘To let me know if you need anything.’ He glanced about him at the tiny studio apartment. The place was basic at best. And colder than an antarctic winter.

‘On my day off?’

‘Your day off?’

‘I don’t work Thursdays. I told you that at our interview.’ Stepping out of her slippers, she crawled onto the bed, dragging the covers over her. ‘So, if there’s nothing else…Pull the door shut behind you on your way out.’

Even with his jacket on, his skin goose-bumped beneath his cashmere jumper. ‘Don’t you have heating?’

‘It’s broken down,’ she mumbled.

‘I can’t leave you here like this.’

‘Sure you can. Don’t you have appointments to keep? Five-star hotels to frequent?’ A hand appeared from beneath the quilt to grab another tissue.

Five-star hotels? ‘What are you talking about?’ He crossed the room, stared down at her, shook his questions away. ‘Forget appointments, forget work. You shouldn’t be on your own and this place is an icebox. You’re coming home with me.’