href="#ulink_39fffacd-2f3b-5a74-9c0e-c877b23590d6">Chapter Five
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.