Free When He Was Bad... by Anne Oliver

to ease his jeans over his hips and step out of them. Involuntarily—that’s what she told herself—her eyes followed his fingers down the length of his strongly muscled thighs and over his knees to the hairy calves and long knobbly toes as he shucked the denim off.
    And, oh… My goodness. Except for a pair of navy boxers which rode low on his lean hips, he was stark-staring naked. She sucked in a breath.
    Imagine him naked .
    But the perfection of his golden-toned body was even better than her imagination had been able to conjure up. She could smell his skin. Two steps closer and she’d be able to reach out and touch. Another step and she’d be able to taste.
    No . If she let him close again, she was going to fall for him; she just knew it. And it would be a much harder landing than that soft mudslide a few moments ago. Safer to keep her distance. And the only way to keep that distance was to not give him any encouragement.
    If he’d noticed her indulging in her little fantasy, he didn’t show it. He was all matter of fact and purpose, rescuing his clothes from the floor and dumping them in the laundry trough.
    Ellie remained where she was. Did he expect her to follow his lead? She could take off her overalls and still be no more exposed than she would in her bikini…but that wasn’t going to happen. Not with Matt McGregor watching on.
    â€˜Use this,’ he said, handing her a sheet which he pulled from a nearby cupboard. ‘You can slip out of your things and wrap it around you. When you’re ready, meet me in the kitchen.’
    Moments later, down to her underwear, and clutching thesheet around her, Ellie followed Matt through a formal lounge and dining room. If she could just keep her sex-starved eyes off his broad-shouldered, near-naked body along the way… She bit back a sigh at the way the light played over the muscles beneath that healthy olive-toned skin and his hairy masculine thighs before making a conscious effort to avert her gaze.
    She’d never been upstairs, but as she followed Matt, it was clear Belle paid the same loving attention to detail throughout the grand old house. She passed a pretty feminine bedroom, then a bedroom with a huge four-poster bed and a mountain of maroon quilt. A pair of shiny black men’s shoes were placed neatly on the floor at the foot of the bed. A perfectly pressed snowy shirt hung on a hanger on the wardrobe door.
    Matt slept in this room.
    Her blood thickened and, without realising, she slowed, hoping for a glimpse of something that told her more about the man beyond the obvious fact that he was tidy. She shook it away, reminding herself she knew all she needed to know. She wasn’t here for a tour. She was here to get clean.
    â€˜This is the guest room,’ Matt said, opening a door further down. ‘The en suite’s through there.’ He gestured to another door on the far side of the room. ‘You should find everything you need. Meanwhile I’ll rustle up some clothes and leave them on the bed for you. When you’re done, can you find your way back to the kitchen?’
    â€˜Yes. Thank you.’
    â€˜Take your time.’
    She didn’t reply, just waited until he left before relaxing enough to take it all in. Beautiful in shades of green and white and gold. Big double bed, snow-white quilt. Elegant pictures of a bygone era on the walls. A view over the rose garden, dark spikes now, in the dead of winter.
    In the bathroom, light spilled through a skylight, bathing a froth of fernery in one corner. She flicked a switch andan instant flood of heat rolled over her shoulders. Absolute decadence.
    There was a double-headed shower and a bath big enough for three. The bath won. When it was full she sank in and let frangipani-scented bubbles soak away the grime.
    Not so easy to soak away thoughts of Matt and the way their bodies had clashed out there in the muddy garden plot. It put another spin