Free Hitched! by Jessica Hart

the planet.
    And now it was raining. No, not raining, pouring . There was no way the men could do anything useful in this.
With a sigh, I adjusted the fierce glasses I wore for working at the computer.
If only you could fit the British weather into a plan, life would be a lot
easier.
    A stamping of boots on the metal steps outside made me look up,
and the next moment George appeared in the doorway. He wore a battered waxed
jacket and muddy boots, and his hair was plastered to his head, and at the sight
of him, my senses crisped instantly. It was as if the air itself jolted, and I
was acutely aware of the drumming rain and the soft whirr of my computer. Of the
smooth cotton shirt against my skin and my thighs pressing into my chair.
    I thought about how he had smiled as he unbuttoned my shirt in
my dream, and my mouth dried.
    ‘What are you doing here?’ I demanded, snatching off my
glasses.
    ‘Getting out of the rain.’ George shook himself like a dog,
spraying raindrops everywhere, and I moved my papers ostentatiously.
    ‘Hey!’ I objected, although the water was pooling around George
rather than my desk.
    ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘but it’s a bit wet out there.’
    ‘What’s wrong with the estate office?’
    ‘Really, Frith, anyone would think you weren’t pleased to see
me.’ He took off his jacket and hung it up next to my hard hat.
    ‘I can’t imagine why you’d think that!’ I said, the ringtone
incident still rankling, as he toed off his boots.
    Padding across the office in his socks, George threw himself
down in the chair on the other side of my desk. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’m
sorry. It was naughty of me, but I couldn’t resist...and if that isn’t a
grovelling enough apology, I’ve brought you lunch to make amends. Judging by the
way you hoovered up those peanuts the other night, you’re not getting enough
lunch.’
    ‘I’m used to popping out for a sandwich in London,’ I said.
‘There’s nowhere to pop out to here, even if it did
stop raining long enough to go out.’
    ‘Here go you. Try this.’ He tossed one of the packets across
the desk to me.
    ‘What is it?’
    ‘One of Mrs Simms’s ham and mustard sandwiches,’ he told me,
settling more comfortably into his chair. ‘They’re the best.’
    I opened the sandwich. I had to admit it looked good. Home-made
bread, thick butter, properly carved ham and a good smear of mustard.
    ‘I suppose I could have some
lunch,’ I said. ‘It’s not as if there’s anything else to do when the weather’s
like this.’
    More eyebrow waggling from George. ‘Oh, I don’t know, I’m sure
we could think of something.’
    Before I could think of a suitably crushing reply, there was a
knock on the side of the cabin and Frank put his head round the door.
    ‘There’s no sign of it clearing up,’ he told me and I
sighed.
    ‘No. You might as well go, Frank.’
    George had swung round in his chair. ‘I see you’re skiving off
as usual, Frank,’ he said with a grin.
    ‘Only on the boss’s say-so,’ said Frank, nodding at me. ‘She
might just be a slip of a lass, but she knows what she’s about.’
    ‘Is that right?’ George’s blue eyes rested speculatively on my
face, and I put my glasses back on to hide my beastly blush.
    ‘Yes, well...see you tomorrow, Frank.’
    ‘Righty-oh.’ Frank turned to go and then paused. ‘You won’t
forget that ringtone for Dave, will you? He’s that chuffed about it.’
    ‘Er...no, of course not,’ I began just as George lifted an
eyebrow.
    ‘Ringtone?’
    Frank actually chuckled. ‘Get the boss here to give you a
listen to her ringtone sometime. It gave us all a good laugh this morning, I can
tell you! We’d heard from the lads at the council that she’d taken them all by
surprise yesterday—apparently they were all in hysterics after the meeting—but
this one was even better. Now Dave wants to get the same one for his Betty’s
birthday. We all like a lass with a sense of