stubborn about this as she.
He waited until she locked up, put the key in its hidey-hole, then took her sweet time walking back with her pack on her shoulder. Even from metres away he could see she was shivering, that now the blush had faded, her cheeks were pale and there were dark circles beneath her eyes.
He met her halfway across the lawn. He didn’t think about whether she’d object, just took her chilled wet hand in his. ‘Come on.’ He hustled her up the path to the verandah, pulling away the plastic remains of her poncho as they shuffled under shelter and into the laundry. ‘A hot shower will warm you up. Or a bath. Whichever you prefer.’
‘No. I’ll be all right.’
‘Ellie.’ Concerned now, he shot her a stern look. ‘You’re wet through. You’re going to take that shower if I have to put you under it myself.’ He peeled off his sodden jumper, tossed it on the floor.
Her gaze slid like a hot silk glove down his chest. He was about to make a joke of it all, but something warned him she wouldn’t see the humour right now. She gulped, then lifted panicked eyes to his. ‘I’m all muddy.’
‘That you are. I’ll find you some of Belle’s clothes.’
She shook her head. ‘I’m not trailing mud and water all through the house.’
‘Take off your shoes.’ He stepped out of his, removed his socks.
Ellie did the same, then looked up at him. Not looking at that gloriously exposed chest. Oh, why had she thought working in the rain was a good idea? At the time she hadn’t given any thought to the mud factor. Nor had she counted on them wallowing in it. Together. ‘My shoes aren’t the only things covered in mud.’
She regretted those words instantly. She felt the heat in his gaze as it travelled over the rest of her and wondered why her clothes weren’t steaming.
‘Same here.’ If anything, he was in a worse state than her. The entire length of him was iced in shiny brown mud. He unsnapped his sodden jeans.
Ah…‘What are you doing?’
‘Someone has to do something if we’re going to find clean dry clothes,’ he said, being entirely too practical.
It took a moment for him to ease his jeans over his hips and step out of them. Involuntarily—that’s what she told herself—her eyes followed his fingers down the length of his strongly muscled thighs and over his knees to the hairy calves and long knobbly toes as he shucked the denim off.
And, oh…My goodness. Except for a pair of navy boxers which rode low on his lean hips, he was stark-staring naked. She sucked in a breath.
Imagine him naked.
But the perfection of his golden-toned body was even better than her imagination had been able to conjure up. She could smell his skin. Two steps closer and she’d be able to reach out and touch. Another step and she’d be able to taste.
No. If she let him close again, she was going to fall for him; she just knew it. And it would be a much harder landing than that soft mudslide a few moments ago. Safer to keep her distance. And the only way to keep that distance was to not give him any encouragement.
If he’d noticed her indulging in her little fantasy, he didn’t show it. He was all matter of fact and purpose, rescuing his clothes from the floor and dumping them in the laundry trough.
Ellie remained where she was. Did he expect her to follow his lead? She could take off her overalls and still be no more exposed than she would in her bikini…but that wasn’t going to happen. Not with Matt McGregor watching on.
‘Use this,’ he said, handing her a sheet which he pulled from a nearby cupboard. ‘You can slip out of your things and wrap it around you. When you’re ready, meet me in the kitchen.’
Moments later, down to her underwear, and clutching the sheet around her, Ellie followed Matt through a formal lounge and dining room. If she could just keep her sex-starved eyes off his broad-shouldered, near-naked body along the way…She bit back a sigh at the way the light played over the muscles beneath that healthy olive-toned skin and his hairy masculine thighs before making a conscious effort to avert her gaze.
She’d never been upstairs, but as she followed Matt, it was clear Belle paid the same loving attention to detail throughout the grand old house. She passed a pretty feminine bedroom, then a bedroom with a huge four-poster bed and a mountain of maroon quilt. A pair of shiny black men’s shoes were placed neatly on the floor at the foot of the bed. A perfectly pressed snowy shirt hung on a hanger on the wardrobe door.
Matt slept in this room.
Her blood thickened and, without realising, she slowed, hoping for a glimpse of something that told her more about the man beyond the obvious fact that he was tidy. She shook it away, reminding herself she knew all she needed to know. She wasn’t here for a tour. She was here to get clean.
‘This is the guest room,’ Matt said, opening a door further down. ‘The en suite’s through there.’ He gestured to another door on the far side of the room. ‘You should find everything you need. Meanwhile I’ll rustle up some clothes and leave them on the bed for you. When you’re done, can you find your way back to the kitchen?’
‘Yes. Thank you.’
‘Take your time.’
She didn’t reply, just waited until he left before relaxing enough to take it all in. Beautiful in shades of green and white and gold. Big double bed, snow-white quilt. Elegant pictures of a bygone era on the walls. A view over the rose garden, dark spikes now, in the dead of winter.
In the bathroom, light spilled through a skylight, bathing a froth of fernery in one corner. She flicked a switch and an instant flood of heat rolled over her shoulders. Absolute decadence.
There was a double-headed shower and a bath big enough for three. The bath won. When it was full she sank in and let frangipani-scented bubbles soak away the grime.
Not so easy to soak away thoughts of Matt and the way their bodies had clashed out there in the muddy garden plot. It put another spin on getting down and dirty.
He’d been turned on.
At the memory of that hard, hot masculine wedge beneath her a bolt of heat shot to her core. Had he been turned on before or after she’d wiggled? And she’d reacted to that subtle prod like a frightened virgin.
Which was best all-round, she decided, diverting her concentration to scrubbing her skin until it tingled. It would give him yet another reason to think she wasn’t interested in him and leave her alone.
Admit it, Ellie. You want him. You want him bad.
As her sex slave, she told herself. That was all. That was all?
Yes, she decided, swirling the bubbles through her fingers, turn the social tables on him. So…if he was in here with her…She flopped back against the bath’s edge. She’d command him to start with her back. Keeping the best bits for last. Keeping the delicious anticipation to the max.
She have him kneel behind her, so close that she’d hear his heart beating, feel his breath against her hair. He’d lave beneath her ear, move on to her neck, her collarbone. Then he’d soap up those long, tanned fingers and drag them over her shoulders, down her breasts, stopping to massage her nipples, draw them out. Slowly…
She sneezed, an unwelcome explosion, dragging her out of the moment and back to reality.
And that reality appeared to be that she was, indeed, coming down with a bug. She could not afford to get sick. She needed as much work as she could get. Which reminded her she was in her employer’s bathroom, using Belle’s lotions and potions and fantasising about her nephew. For goodness’ sake.
She yanked out the plug and snatched one of the thick jade towels off the rack. Damn Matt. For making her want things she had no business wanting. Her employer’s