Free Hired by the Brooding Billionaire by Kandy Shepherd Page A

only time she saw him was when he chose to seek her out.
    By the time she looked up to see Declan heading towards her, Mark had gone.
    It was lunchtime and she was sitting near a bank of azaleas—already budding up for spring—to shelter from the light wind that had sprung up. As her employer approached she put her sandwich back into the chilled lunchbox she brought with her to work and schooled her face into a professional gardener-greeting-boss expression.
    She couldn’t let it show how happy she was to see him. How his visits had become the highlights of her day.
    Her boss. A grieving widower. Not for her.
She had taken to repeating the phrases like a series of mantras. Now she had to add:
her
billionaire
boss—totally out of her league
.
    But when she looked up to see him heading towards her she couldn’t help the flutter of awareness deep inside her, the flush that warmed her cheeks. Her knees felt shaky and she stumbled as she got up to greet him.
    She’d got used to his abrupt ways, his sly humour that she didn’t always get, the way he challenged her to justify her decisions. But she would never get used to the impact of his tall, broad-shouldered body and his extraordinarily handsome face.
    This was the first time she’d seen him dressed in anything but black. His jeans were the deepest indigo—only a step away from black really, but it was a step. His sweater was charcoal grey, open at the neck to reveal a hint of rock-solid pecs and pushed up to his elbows to bare strong, muscled forearms.
    ‘Don’t get up,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realise I was interrupting your lunch.’
    ‘I haven’t actually started eating,’ she said. She didn’t want to be caught at a disadvantage munching on a cheese and salad sandwich. It would be just her luck to have a shred of lettuce on her tooth when she was trying to be serious and professional around him.
    His brow furrowed. ‘Do you usually eat outside? Why don’t you make use of the kitchen in the apartment?’
    ‘Oh, but I wouldn’t... I couldn’t. I just dash in there to use the bathroom.’
    ‘Please feel free to use the kitchen too,’ he said.
    ‘Thank you,’ she said, knowing she wouldn’t. She still felt like an intruder every time she went in there.
    Declan put his hands behind his back, rocked on his heels. ‘You were talking to a man earlier,’ he said.
    She nodded. ‘He’s the gardener who’s coming to help me tomorrow. His name is Mark Brown. I would have liked to introduce you to him but I didn’t think it was worth interrupting you with a text.’
    ‘Is he a friend of yours?’
    His question surprised her. But she remembered how concerned Declan was about strangers intruding on his privacy. ‘Yes, he is, actually. We were at uni together in Melbourne and both moved to Sydney at about the same time. He’s a very good horticulturalist. I could have just hired a tree-removal guy but we need to be careful with some of the surrounding plants. Luckily Mark was available. I can vouch for him one hundred per cent.’
    ‘Lucky indeed,’ he said. His eyes were cool, appraising, unreadable. ‘Is he your boyfriend?’
    Shelley stared at Declan, too flabbergasted at first to speak. ‘What? Mark? No!’ She’d often got the feeling Mark would like to be more than friends but she didn’t see him that way.
    ‘Do you have a boyfriend?’ Declan asked.
    Those extraordinary blue eyes searched her face. There was something darkly sensual about him that went beyond handsome. Something she should not be registering.
    Boss. Widower. Not for her.
Frantically she repeated the mantra in her mind. At the same time her body was zinging with awareness.
    ‘No. I don’t have a boyfriend. And I... I don’t
want
a boyfriend.’
    ‘I see,’ he said, nodding, as his speculative gaze took in her drab, serviceable gardening gear—a tad grubby after a morning spent weeding. She was also sporting protective pads made from foam and hard nylon strapped around her