Free Billionaire on Her Doorstep by Ally Blake Page A

plain magnificent.
    Funny, but Maggie usually leaned towards finer men. Lean. Elegant. Suits and ties. Men like her dad - an executive who traveled a lot and then one day simply hadn’t come home. But that hadn’t stopped her from turning into the arms of men like that all her life. Men who looked the part, and said all the right things, and let her down in the end. Of all bad habits, that was the one she was most determined to break.
    Maggie grabbed the beers with one hand and a bag of salt and vinegar crisps with the other and headed out to join her big, strong, straightforward, what-you-see-is-what-you-get handyman for a sunset drink.
    “Here you go,” Maggie said, heralding her barefooted arrival so as not to startle him. He really had seemed so far away.
    He turned, giving her an appreciative smile, a crooked, hazel-eyed smile that she felt deep in her belly. But that was not why she had invited him to stay. She needed a beer buddy and he’d been working hard, and he deserved some proper thanks.
    He took the beer, his fingers sliding momentarily against hers as he slipped the condensation loaded bottle from her grasp.
    Maggie’s knees felt a little wobbly all of a sudden, so she sat in a rickety wrought iron chair and tossed the packet of crisps on to the matching mosaic table that she’d found in the backyard when she’d first moved into the house.
    In fact almost every piece of furniture in the place was a found object. All bar her king-sized bed, which she had ordered from Melbourne - new, huge and ridiculously luxurious, with the most expensive white Egyptian cotton sheets from her favorite shop on Chapel Street.
    She’d hoped it might help her get a good night’s sleep. But so far, no deal. Maybe if she bought that second-hand stereo and a few CDs it might help her relax enough to sleep a full night. Tom said he knew which CD had that INXS song that had been playing when they’d sat together on the back of his truck. She wouldn’t mind owning that one for a start.
    The man in question leant his backside against the railing, the warmth of the setting sun gathering in his hair highlighting streaks of bronze amidst the dark waves. He took a swig of the beer. A great manly swig - the column of his tanned throat working overtime to down the bubbly liquid. Then he lowered his head, lowered the beer and lowered his hazel eyes to hers. And his crooked smile and her tummy twitches were back with a vengeance.
    “That hit the spot,” he said. “Thanks.”
    She took her own ladylike sip.
    “Interesting bunch of friends you had over the other day,” Tom said.
    Maggie hid behind her right hand as she swallowed, the unfamiliar bubbles burning in her throat. “I hope they didn’t give you too much of a hard time.”
    “Hardly. They were very polite.”
    “Them? Never. Politeness is only a mask for what people really want to say, and those girls don’t hold back.”
    Tom blinked. And it hit Maggie how polite the two of them had become since that day. She remembered ripples beneath the brief hellos, even lengthier goodbyes. The pleases and thank yous galore over their shared lunches…
    “I don’t think the redhead liked me all that much,” Tom said, saving her from her daunting thoughts. “Did I once cut her off in traffic?”
    “Doubtful. Freya is ferociously overprotective of all of us,” Maggie said, feeling the need to over-explain to show that she wasn’t holding any thing important back. “Hence the vibes you no doubt felt pummeling you the minute you invaded her inner sanctum of womanly placation. Don’t take it personally.”
    Tom nodded. “I won’t. It was a thrill to meet Ashleigh Caruthers. I had no idea she lived out here.”
    “Ashleigh’s the reason I bought out here in the first place.”
    “She helped you find this place?” he asked, motioning with his bottle to the dark house behind them.
    “Nope. This great white elephant is all my own foolishness. When I decided to buy a