Free The Protea Boys by Tea Cooper Page B

tray, his one smooth, fluid movement uncoiling some spring deep in her belly. She tried not to stare at him, forcing her gaze to stay on the truck bed as he unclipped the safety straps and pulled the gear down.
    “Is there anything you need done tomorrow?” he said from the back of the truck. Georgie took a step backward, her breath catching and her imagination running riot. She visualized him pouncing down on her and grabbing hold of her. She sucked her stomach in quickly at the memory of his hands around her waist.
    “I might send the boys off with the truck and service these two tomorrow”—he patted the two brush cutters—”and have a look at the irrigation system here, do a bit of snipping, and maybe see if I can get to servicing the water pump.”
    Georgie cleared her throat, forcing the words out between her dry lips. “It would be great, Tom.” She allowed her eyes to widen appreciatively at the whisper of the gravel when his feet hit the ground. “But I have to work tomorrow. I’ll be in the office all day. I’ve got paperwork to catch up on.”
    Inside, way away from temptation.
    “It’s fine by me. I wasn’t expecting you to hold my hand.”
    A shiver ran down her spine at the prospect, and she forced her eyes away from his strong, tanned, capable hands that had so gently massaged the wombat.
    “I’ll be doing the hard work outside, and you’ll be inside, keeping your lovely skin out of the harsh sun.” He stepped closer and trailed a finger down her arm, watching with a wry smile the goose bumps following the path he’d created. Her knees buckled, and his touch went through her like lightning, burning a path of invitation. She heaved herself out of reach, ignoring the amusement lighting his eyes.
    “Excuse me,” Georgie spluttered, rubbing up and down her arm, trying desperately to return the blood flow, excise the tingling, and grasp back some control. She cleared her throat, the dust from the driveway aggravating it. “It’s really important we get the diesel pump serviced because the weather is getting hotter and I’m going to need to water the plants; otherwise the new blooms won’t form properly.”
    Tom nodded in reply and grinned. Desperate to get to safer ground, Georgie headed back up to the house, feeling strangely lonely, not looking forward to a night at home with only her accounts and the TV to keep her company.
    One minute she spent drooling over him and the next he spent driving her insane with his remarks. She kicked a stone across the grass. If it wasn’t for the fact that he did such a brilliant job, she’d be tempted to get rid of him. Another stone followed. Somehow since he’d first turned up—since she had first fallen at his feet, she corrected herself—her emotions had been all over the place, and she’d become a clumsy, blushing excuse for a female. Hormones, she decided as she wandered into the kitchen. Splashing a solitary slug of wine into a glass, she sat on the veranda, glowering at the sun as it made a showy display of disappearing over the ridge.

Chapter Twelve
    The usual bashing and crashing in the shed and shouted instructions woke her the next morning. She rolled over, swung out of bed, and looked at her watch. Seven thirty. The boys were leaving.
    On the dot .
    She padded into the kitchen in her cotton pjs and shoestring camisole.
    “Morning, Georgina.” Her heart crashed against her rib cage as she looked up and saw Tom leaning against the open kitchen door.
    “Georgie,” she muttered.
    The flat planes of his muscular frame seemed to fill the room. A rush of heat flew up her body, and she crossed her arms over the small and flimsy camisole. She itched to fling open the windows and increase the airflow in the room, but then she’d have to unfold her arms.
    What is it about this man ?
    He appeared to have perfected the art of catching her out. Her arms tightened around her body protectively. He didn’t need to mentally undress her; he made