apologise. I do get cranky. Bad mannered. Rude. Whatever you’d like to call it. Usually after I haven’t had any sleep. Be forewarned.’
She frowned. ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’
‘I work from my home office and I’m online until the early hours, sometimes through the night.’
‘No wonder you get cranky if you don’t get enough sleep.’
He would bet she was an early-to-bed-and-early-to-rise type. Wholesome. That was the word for her—and he didn’t mean it as an insult.
‘I catch up on sleep during the day,’ he said.
‘Like a vampire,’ she said—and clapped her hand over her mouth again. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that.’
‘You don’t have to apologise for that either. I actually find the idea amusing.’
‘I’m sorry— There I go apologising again. What I meant to say is that I sometimes speak before I think. Not just sometimes, lots of times. I’ve been told I need to be more...considered in what I say.’
‘So far you haven’t offended me in any way.’ She was so earnest he was finding it difficult not to smile at how flustered she’d become.
‘I’ll stay out of your way as much as possible, then.’
‘That might be an idea,’ he said. Then wondered why he didn’t like the thought of her avoiding him. He’d been living on his own for a long time and he liked it that way.
Reclusive. Aloof. Intimidating. The labels had been hurled at him often enough. By people who had no idea of the intensity of the pain that had made him lock himself away. People who expected him to get over something he’d never be able to get over. Never be able to stop blaming himself for.
‘What do you do that makes you work such unsociable hours?’ Shelley asked.
Unsociable. That was the other label.
‘I’m an independent producer of computer games.’ Then there was his other work he preferred to keep secret.
‘Really?’ She dismissed his life work with a wave of her hand. ‘I don’t have time for computer games. I’d rather be outside in the fresh air and sunlight than hunched in front of a computer or glued to a phone.’
He glared at her. More out of habit than intent.
She bit her lower lip and screwed up her face in repentance. ‘Oh, dear. I’ve done it again. Now I’ve really insulted you.’
‘I didn’t take it as an insult,’ he said through gritted teeth.
‘Do you invent games? That could be fun.’ Her attempt to feign interest in gaming was transparent and somehow endearing.
‘I have done,’ he said. ‘Have you heard of the Alana series?’
She shook her head and strands of her hair escaped her hat. They glinted gold in the morning sunlight. ‘I played some game with a little purple dragon when I was younger but, as I said, I’d rather be outside.’
‘Yet you read?’
‘Yes. And these days I listen to audio books if I’m working on a job on my own. I spend a lot of time by myself in this line of work. If I’m in a team it’s different, of course.’
‘Seems like a good idea,’ he said.
‘Oh, don’t think I don’t give one hundred per cent to the job. I do. And your garden is so interesting to me I’ll be fully engaged. I dare say I won’t get to finish another book until I complete my work here.’
‘I wasn’t criticising you,’ he said. ‘If you want to listen to books or music that’s fine by me. As long as you get the work done and don’t disturb me.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. She glanced at her watch. ‘I’m aching to see the rest of the garden. Tell me, is there a fountain there? I so want there to be a fountain.’
He smiled. Her enthusiasm was contagious. ‘There is a fountain. But it doesn’t work.’
She fell into step beside him as he headed around the side of the house. Her long strides just about matched his. ‘The pump for the fountain is probably broken. Or clogged. Or there could be a leak in the basin,’ she said.
‘All possibilities just waiting there for you to discover,’ he said.
She completely missed the irony of his words. ‘Yes. I’m so excited to get it working again. I love water features. They add movement to a garden, for one thing. And attract birds.’
He nodded thoughtfully. ‘I hadn’t realised that. About water adding movement. But when you think about it, it makes sense.’
‘A garden isn’t just about plants. There are so many elements to consider. Of course, being a horticulturalist, plants are my primary interest. But a garden should be an all-round sensory experience, not just visual.’
She stopped, tilted her head back and sniffed. ‘Scent is important too. There’s a daphne somewhere in this garden. I can smell it. It’s a small shrub with a tiny pink flower but the most glorious scent. It blooms in winter.’ She closed her eyes and breathed in. ‘Oh, yes, that’s daphne, all right.’ She sighed a sigh of utter bliss. ‘Can you smell it?’
Declan was disconcerted by the look of sensual pleasure on Shelley’s face, her lips parted as if in anticipation of a kiss, her flawless skin flushed, long dark lashes fanned, a pulse throbbing at the base of her slender neck. She was beautiful.
He had to clear his throat before he replied. ‘Yes, I can smell it. It’s very sweet.’
She opened her eyes and smiled up at him. How had he not noticed her lovely, lush mouth?
‘They’re notoriously temperamental,’ she said. ‘Daphne can bloom for years and then just turn up its toes for no reason at all.’
‘Is that so?’ Ten minutes in Shelley’s company and he was learning more about gardening than he ever wanted to know. ‘The name of the old lady who owned this house before me was Daphne.’
He thought Shelley was going to clap her hands in delight. ‘How wonderful. No wonder there’s daphne planted here. It’s great to have a plant to echo someone’s name. I often give friends a rose that’s got the same name as them for a present. A ‘Carla’ rose for a Carla. A ‘Queen Elizabeth’ for an Elizabeth.’ She paused. ‘I don’t know if there’s a rose called Declan, though. I’ll have to check.’
He put up his hand in a halt sign. ‘No. Please. I don’t want a Declan plant in this garden.’
‘Okay. Fair enough. I don’t know that Declan is a great name for a rose anyway. Fine for a man. Excellent for a man, in fact...’ Her voice dwindled. She looked up at him, pulled a self-deprecating face. ‘I’m doing it again, aren’t I?’
‘Declan is not a good name for a rose, I agree.’ She should be annoying him; instead she was amusing him.
‘I... I’m nervous around you,’ she said. ‘Th...that’s why I’m putting foot in mouth even more than usual.’ She scuffed the weed-lined path with her boot. It was a big boot; there was nothing dainty about this warrior woman.
‘Nervous?’
‘I... I find you...forbidding.’
Forbidding. Another label to add to the list.
He shifted from one foot to another, uncomfortable with the turn the conversation was taking. ‘I can see how you could think that,’ he said. What he wanted to say was he’d put a force-field around himself and it was difficult to let it down—even to brief a gardener. Especially when the gardener looked as she did—made him react as she did.
She