there, she opened the back door to the part of the garden where a paved pathway led towards a sturdy iron gate, beyond which was the road. Or where she knew there should be a road. Switching on the night light, all she could see through the grey shroud of misty, heavily falling rain was an uprooted tree lying drunkenly across the path. The ferocious wind was tossing everything around as though it were the flimsy furniture in a child’s dolls’ house. Lily’s beloved greenhouse was ominously shaking and shuddering. It was definitely under threat of losing its moorings as the rain viciously pelted the thin glass panes, Jenny saw. Dangerously, just a few feet away a slim-stemmed birch was being all but battered to kingdom come. If it came crashing down on top of Lily’s beloved greenhouse the several almost ripened tomato plants that she’d been tending like a broody mother hen would certainly be demolished—as would every other plant and vegetable in there.
The idea of being the one who was responsible for losing them galvanised Jenny into action. Determinedly she headed for the shed at the bottom of the garden, the wind’s eerie elemental power making her stumble more than once as she negotiated her way round the fallen tree that lay across the path. A while ago, whilst searching for a particular garden tool, she’d spotted what looked like a fairly robust rolled up tarpaulin inside the shed, which could now be put to good use.
The large tarpaulin clutched against her sodden chest, along with some tent pegs she’d found, Jenny shook her drenched hair from her eyes and then steeled herself to walk back to the other side of the garden where the greenhouse stood. Grimacing as another bolt of silver lightning lit up the sky, she uncurled the tarp, shaking it out as best as she could.
It didn’t take long for her to realise she was fighting a losing battle. Every time she managed to get one corner straightened out the wind all but ripped it out of her now freezing hands and she had to fight to uncurl it again. The rain was like a grey blindfold over her eyes as she worked, making her curse out loud because she hadn’t thought about the implications of such a storm earlier, when she’d first seen the darkening clouds appear in the sky.
‘What are you trying to do?’
A voice to the side of her lifted to make itself heard above the storm. Already drenched to the skin from his dash from the back door to reach Jenny’s side, Rodrigo was staring at her as though she was quite mad.
‘The greenhouse!’ she shouted, pointing. ‘I need to secure it so it won’t get flattened by the storm. I was going to throw the tarp over it and then fasten it to the ground to hold it.’
Comprehending, Rodrigo unceremoniously relieved her of the wildly blowing tarpaulin and then shoved one corner back into her hands. ‘Move back and we will shake it out together,’ he instructed. ‘Do you have anything to secure it?’
‘Yes.’ She quickly stooped to retrieve the long tent pegs she’d left by her feet. ‘These.’ She handed them over.
‘We need a hammer to bang them into the ground.’ Momentarily he shifted his gaze down to her feet, as if expecting to see the necessary tool lying there.
‘Oh, God.’ Biting her lip, Jenny stared back at Rodrigo with an apologetic shrug. ‘I forgot to bring the mallet with me. It’s still in the shed.’
‘I’ll get it. Stay here.’
‘It’s at the other end of the garden. Can you see it?’
‘Yes, I see it.’ Before he left, Rodrigo furnished her with a wry look. ‘And do your best not to get blown away by the wind while I am gone…I am looking forward to my full English breakfast in the morning, and that’s not going to happen without a cook!’
No sooner had he left than he was back again, a large wooden mallet clutched tightly in his hand, as if the storm and the fallen tree had been but mere annoying trifles that had not even vaguely threatened his mission. Taking charge with reassuring confidence, he yelled instructions to Jenny, helping them both negotiate the best way of working in the increasingly untamed weather.
By the time they had the tarp over the greenhouse roof and the sides rolled down securely over the glass walls—Rodrigo having deftly banged in the tent pegs through the loops to fasten it to the ground—Jenny felt as if she’d been packed in ice and left to freeze. Thank God her ex had been around to help her. That was all she could think as she took one last glance through the drowning rain at the secured tarp covering Lily’s treasured greenhouse. She’d never have managed it on her own, she realised.
Gratefully dashing into the house again, she knew she must look half-drowned, with her sodden clothing and dripping hair. Next to the efficient DIY expert, who still managed to look nothing less than gorgeous even though he was also wet through, Jenny felt like something the cat had dragged in. It wasn’t a picture she wanted to project to anyone…least of all the man that had broken her heart. But her hands were so chilled that she could barely even make a fist, and she had no choice but to leave the locking of the door behind them to Rodrigo too.
Dark hair was plastered to his well-shaped head, and Jenny watched an icy rivulet of water streak down his face over high-sculpted cheekbones and a clean-cut jaw that didn’t have so much as a smidgeon of spare flesh detracting from its perfect symmetry. On its way, the pearl of moisture flirted briefly with a corner of his mouth, making her dangerously aware of how full and sensual his upper lip was—just like one of those Italian sculptures that art-lovers gasped at because they were so beautiful.
‘Tomorrow morning I’m going to cook you the best breakfast you’ve ever had.’ She took a nervous swallow. ‘I owe you big-time for what you just did. Lily has worked so hard to grow her own vegetables, and—’
The lips that had so riveted her attention were suddenly laid over hers as gently as a butterfly wing. Shocked rigid, Jenny was nonetheless compos mentis enough to register the erotic warmth of the breath that came with it, as well as the burning heat hovering beguilingly beneath the rough velvet skin that had been rendered arctic cold from his rescue mission outside.
As soon as Rodrigo lifted his mouth away from hers her body throbbed with insistent hunger for a second helping of that incredibly arousing fleeting contact. The idea of having a properly passionate kiss from her one-time husband again made her feel dizzy with want…quite primitively crazy with it.
Fearing her gaze must easily reflect her torrid feelings, Jenny stepped away, her hands fiddling with the drenched ends of her shoulder-length hair, praying he wouldn’t guess how violently his brief kiss had affected her. ‘What was that for?’ she breathed.
He shrugged, as though amused. ‘Regard it as a thank-you from the absent Lily. No doubt she would be quite moved to learn that you care so much about her greenhouse that you were willing to venture outside in a violent storm to protect it.’ Rodrigo smiled. ‘Now…I think we both need to rid ourselves of these wet clothes before we succumb to pneumonia, don’t you?’
The suggestion sounded like something X-rated articulated in that sexy Spanish voice. So much so that Jenny felt as if a fire had been lit beneath her blood. But, with his hands on his hips, Rodrigo’s next words quickly brought her disturbing fantasies to an abrupt if regretful end.
‘We’d better not stand here talking all night. We need to get back to our rooms, change into dry clothing and then return downstairs for a hot drink to warm us up…sí?’
‘Good idea,’ Jenny muttered, wrenching her gaze determinedly away from his. Ascending the staircase, she hurried as though being chased by some dogged pursuer up to no good. But in her heart of hearts she knew it was her own tumultuous feelings that she was really hoping to distance herself from…
In the shower, as he stood beneath the needle-sharp scalding spray, Rodrigo stared through the curtain of water, filled with disbelief at what had just happened between him and his pretty ex-wife.
Recalling the incident with more intent, he remembered that her sweet-lipped cupid’s bow pink mouth had suddenly become like the most sensuous narcotic. A longing to still the tantalising little quiver he had glimpsed, to taste the heat as well as the rain-cold damp he knew