mint and lemongrass. ‘Hello, my little treasures.’ She trailed her fingers over a variegated thyme. ‘I’ve come to take you home.’
Positioning the trolley near the workbench, she collected the smaller pots, and to keep the more delicate plants going until she had time to deal with them tomorrow, she filled a spray bottle and began misting them.
She caressed the thick leaves of a large aloe vera in an elegant waist-high blue pot. ‘You’re going to be a challenge to lift, aren’t you, my pretty? Maybe I should ask our friendly as a frozen fish neighbour for help.’
Huffing out a breath, she plugged her ear buds into the smartphone in the hip pocket of her jeans, switched on her favourite playlist. ‘He’d have to acknowledge I’m alive first.’ In time with her music, she shot off three hard squirts at a struggling coriander. ‘And I sure as heck am not going to be first to acknowledge him.’
He’d barely given her the time of day. As if she’d been invisible.
Story of her life.
Well, not quite. She knew she stood out in a crowd now, thanks to her late growth spurt at the age of fifteen. She’d had years to practise how to garner attention—and she’d learned well. Even if it hadn’t always been attention garnered for the right reasons and had landed her in trouble more often than she cared to remember. Her rebellious years.
These days she didn’t have to work hard for that attention. Except from people like Leo Hamilton. And why did that irk her?
‘I’m very much alive, Mr Big, Bad and Built,’ she told an overgrown cactus with delusions of its own importance. ‘And I’m going to make it my business to show you I do exist.’
Aiming her bottle at it, she squeezed the trigger. Hard. Seemed she wasn’t done with rebellion yet.
* * *
Arms crossed beside a potted kumquat tree, Leo leaned a shoulder against the door jamb and watched with some amusement while his new neighbour drowned the arid-loving cactus and his reputation as a usually well-mannered guy. With those bits of plastic in her ears, he wondered if she even knew she was voicing her opinions aloud. Yeah—she existed all too clearly and, despite his best efforts to the contrary, his body responded, the tension tightening with every squeeze of her slender fingers on that trigger bottle.
He wasn’t hiding but he was counting on her not seeing him just yet—he hadn’t witnessed anything as fascinating as Breanna Black making herself at home in his atrium since his pubescent self had ogled the naked female form for the first time.
He’d wandered around the back of the house with some landscaping ideas on paper to find the door open. He was ticked off that she still had the key George had mentioned and, worse, she was still using it. Obviously she had the security code as well. He intended familiarising her with the concept of privacy...soon. Right now he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She had the sexiest backside, especially when she wiggled it as she was doing now in time to music only she could hear.
Her top was a yellow-raincoat yellow, and, from what he could see in profile as she moved, cling wrapped to those abundant breasts. The short hem flared over black leggings that clung to long, long legs. She looked like the sunflower she was standing next to.
She continued squirting, flicked her long black plait back over her shoulder. His fingers itched to free it from the confines of its elastic band, to watch it shimmer the way it had that moment at the top of the stairs last week, to feel its silky texture against his palms. To bring it to his nose and inhale. Slowly. Deeply.
Pull yourself together.
She was a neighbour, and, right now, a damn nuisance. He’d worked past midnight every evening this week so he could be in Hobart over the weekend to check out some nearby short-term accommodation for himself while the electrician ripped out the guts of this place and installed new wiring throughout. The plumbers were going to be here, and the kitchen renovation crew.
He did not want this woman in his space. Nor did he need her sensual perfume wafting his way and clogging up his sinuses with scents better appreciated in the bedroom.
She plunked the sunflower on the trolley, gave it a drenching. ‘He’d better not be planning any external changes that will affect the value of my home. An elevator, for crying out loud? And if he even thinks about getting rid of that foyer chandelier...’ Her rant trailed off—presumably she was contemplating what she’d do to him in the event.
Wearing skin-tight leather and brandishing a whip.
The image of the two of them engaged in bodily combat flashed before him. The slippery slide of that black leather against his flesh. His teeth finding the vulnerable place under her chin while she screamed in pleasure. He clenched his jaw—he could literally feel his blood pressure spike.
He’d heard enough. He wanted her out of here, now. Before he said, or did, something detrimental to his state of solitary well-being.
Uncrossing his arms, he pushed off the door frame.
* * *
‘Now why would I want to do that?’
The low murmur near her ear at the same instant someone removed her ear buds had Brie practically leaping out of her skin. ‘What the...?’ Fists raised, she spun around. ‘You.’ Her fists uncurled and she lowered her arms to the workbench. ‘You startled me.’
She was still startled, but in an electrifying, breath-stealing way, and her strength seemed to drain out of her under the force of his steely eyed gaze.
He wore casual today—faded denim and a matching soft-looking jumper, and he smelled of warm wool and that indefinable masculine scent she recognised from the last time she’d seen him.
‘Then again, if I did want to do that...’ He didn’t appear concerned that he’d scared ten years off her life and looked her up and down in a manner that wiped whatever she had been talking about from her mind.
‘Do...what? And...and what are you doing here?’
‘Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?’ His voice was all reason and calm. Not to mention husky and low and seductive.
‘I thought George told you about the key,’ she went on, since she did owe him an explanation. ‘And the plants.’ She began picking up pots at random, setting them on the trolley. ‘I apologise, I meant to get around to it during the week but I was busy.’
One dark brow rose, his expression clear. Doing what?
‘You’re not the only one who works, Mr Hamilton.’
He slouched casually against the workbench. ‘You can rest easy—I have no intention of removing the chandelier. The elevator’s not happening and there’ll be no exterior changes—I love the house’s old-world charm and I appreciate that the two buildings share a history, which I believe should be retained. Apart from some electrical and plumbing work, I’m doing some kitchen renovations, which involve shifting a wall about fifty centimetres, but they won’t compromise the integrity of the place. You okay with that?’
She breathed a sigh of relief and slapped a hand to her chest. ‘Thank goodness. I’ve been thinking about you—about it—about your renovations all week.’ Busted. ‘And I’ve been thinking other stuff out loud too,
