with the million-dollar business—which she’d have known if she’d only looked at his card. What were the odds? She should buy a lottery ticket.
‘Belle sometimes sleeps late,’ she informed him coolly. ‘I like to start early. I usually greet her when she comes outside with her morning coffee. I’m running late today because—’
‘You had to wash your hair?’
How did he know? Her hand rose automatically to her cap and she sighed. ‘Several times, actually.’ But it hadn’t made much of a difference. It was still pink.
‘Ellie.’ The sound of her name rolled out like a boulder over a grassy knoll. ‘Ellie…what?’
She straightened her spine. ‘Ellie Rose.’
‘As in hyphenated?’
‘As in Rose is my surname. My mum’s surname, actually,’ she explained. ‘My father didn’t want a kid so Mum…’ She trailed off. Too much information, Ellie.
‘Well, Ellie Rose,’ he said, still eyeing her as if she might pick up the fork the moment he turned his back. And, by crikey, she was tempted. ‘If you’d come up to the house…’
A sense of foreboding slid through her. ‘Pardon? Belle doesn’t—’
‘Belle’s not here. I’m asking you.’ He inclined his head. ‘Please.’
‘Is this because I didn’t come to work last Friday? I went on a field trip to the botanic gardens and I thought I’d make it up today, so that’s why I’m a day earlier.’
‘Just come with me,’ he said, gesturing towards the house, and she realised her tongue had run away from her. Again. Stress, that’s what it was, but trying to explain would only make it worse. Was it because she’d left him on Saturday night without any explanation?
He was already walking away, his lanky stride putting more distance between them every second. Ellie couldn’t help it; she couldn’t drag her eyes away from those tight jeans clenched around that familiar butt. Temptation on legs.
No, she told herself and darted back into the shed to grab her backpack. Never again. Gorgeous overbearing men were not her type.
Lose the attitude, Ellie. You need the work. Focus on the work. Swinging her pack over her shoulder, she hurried to catch up, the nervous fingers of her left hand twirling around the button on her overalls strap. And wouldn’t you know it—the pesky thing came away in her hand. The bill of her cap bumped into him, knocking it off and sending the brass disc spinning over the grass in front of him. ‘Oops,’ she mumbled to his back. His very broad, very hard back.
He spun around, firm hands closing around her upper arms. She barely had time to absorb their heat and the long lean feel of them before he let her go.
‘My button…Sorry,’ she muttered again, and while she was rubbing away the tingles his touch had wrought, he was bending over and searching for her button in the grass. She watched the muscles flex and roll on either side of that long curve of spine, the enticing sliver of bronze flesh below his T-shirt. She wondered what he’d do if she just reached out now and ran her fingernail across—
He straightened abruptly as if he knew exactly what she’d been thinking. She cleared her throat, attempted a smile and held out her hand. ‘Thanks.’
He didn’t smile back or answer. He was too busy staring at her hair.
And she’d been too busy checking out his butt—his back—to pick up her cap. She swiped it up, aware that her cheeks probably matched her hair by now. ‘Supermarket brands…Never mind.’ She jammed her cap back on. She was never, ever going to put a colour through her hair again.
‘Fairy floss,’ he murmured to himself, still eyeing her cap as if he could see through it.
He dropped the button into her outstretched palm before turning and continuing to the back door, leaving her to struggle with the strap as she followed. She slipped its end through the bib’s buttonhole and tied it into a temporary knot and prayed it held.
The kitchen smelled of lemons, cinnamon and rosemary. A homey room with sparkling red and white china and a friendly collection of ceramic cows on the pine dresser. The fragrant miniature potted herbs on the windowsill had been a gift to Belle from Ellie.
‘Have a seat.’ He pulled out a chair at the table for her.
Their knees bumped as he sat and his eyes flicked to hers, as if he, too, had felt that zing of sensation. She shifted her legs out of harm’s way. Wringing her hands beneath the tabletop, she chewed on her lip to stop herself speaking before he got started on whatever he had in mind.
He set his hands, palms down, in front of him on the table and considered them carefully before he looked at her. ‘I have some questions.’
About Saturday night? Why she’d changed her mind? Rushed off? Not called him?
No. His eyes weren’t asking those questions. This was more like a job interview. It didn’t seem to matter to him that Belle had already hired her. ‘I thought Belle would’ve told you about me.’
While she spoke he pulled out a fancy-looking black and silver electronic organiser and began tapping. ‘Not enough, I’m afraid.’ His finger paused over the buttons. ‘First up, how did you come by this job?’
‘Belle contacted me through an ad I posted in the local paper. And she hired me on the spot because I’m a damn good gardener,’ she finished, leaning back and crossing her arms. ‘That was a month ago, and it must be true because I’m still here.’
He didn’t reply, just continued to study her with a steady, impenetrable gaze. Not a hint of Saturday night’s heat there. Ellie refused to be disappointed. Refused.
Maybe if she explained why he could trust her to do a good job…Leaning forward again, she said, ‘This house holds a special significance for me. When I was a kid my mum and I used to walk past here on the way to the tram. She told me the property had been in my grandfather’s family at one time. The house was a little girl’s fantasy and I loved it—especially the unicorn statue in the front garden. Its horn used to be gold, you know.’
His gaze turned considering. ‘I know.’ He studied her in silence a moment longer, then tapped his fingers on the table. ‘References?’
‘I’ve moved around a lot.’ Call me irresponsible. Her words spoken in part jest, part bravado last Saturday night spun back to haunt her. Racking her brain, she tried to recall what else she’d said, but unfortunately could think of nothing that would instil confidence.
‘Ah, of course, the free spirit.’
She watched those long fingers punch more buttons while heat bled up her neck and her nipples tingled. Those fingers had—
‘No references. Your address and phone number?’
Her gaze whipped up to his face. That tiny muscle twitched in his jaw again but his eyes betrayed nothing. Not a thing. The heat continued to rise, suffusing her cheeks. She twisted restless fingers around the locket at her neck. ‘Look, I really don’t see that this is any of your concern.
