Free When He Was Bad... by Anne Oliver Page B

at what she held in her hand. Fire-engine-red G-string, matching satin and lace bra. Surprise. Who’d have thought that beneath those ugly overalls…?
    Remember Saturday night?
    This was that same woman, and his pulse quickened, his mood sobering to something darker as the primitive side of him stirred to life. Her skin glowed a delicate peach. He imagined it was as soft and luscious as it looked. It took all his will not to stride right over there and sample it. Her legs, bared to her upper thigh, were perfection and she reminded him of a long-stemmed rose on a foggy day.
    He couldn’t seem to look away. Couldn’t move. Felt as if his body had turned to stone. Inside his skin was another matter. His mouth was dry and his blood was surging south. Somehow he remembered why he was there, cleared his throat and lifted the bundle of clothes in his hands. ‘I’ll just put these on the bed…. I’ve put the rest of your clothes in the washing machine. Would you like me to add those?’ He gestured to her bundle.
    â€˜No.’
    Her fingers tightened into a fist around it and he got that she was thinking of his hands on her G-string.
    He almost groaned aloud. Way bad timing. A fleeting thought that he could ring Cole and postpone darted through his mind, but their meeting was important and he was a professional first and foremost. Business took priority.
    â€˜Okay.’ He swallowed, then continued with, ‘If the trousers are too long you can roll the legs up or whatever….’ He thought it wiser not to mention underwear again.
    â€˜Thanks.’ She didn’t move. ‘Was there something else?’
    â€˜I’m fixing us a bite to eat when you’re ready. How do you like your steak?’
    â€˜Steak?’
    â€˜You’re not vegetarian, are you?’
    â€˜No, rare, and why are we having this conversation right here, right now ?’
    â€˜Rare. Okay.’ He made himself step back. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then.’
    The instant he’d gone, Ellie rushed to the door and locked it before the man decided to come back to ask her wine preferences. He was fixing steak? For her? For them ?
    Dropping the towel, she hauled on the clothes he’d provided her with. In front of the mirror, she ran a comb through her unruly hair, then, with no hair straighteners in sight, gave it up as a lost cause. And what did it matter? She didn’t care what Matt McGregor thought. Nor was she going to be impressed— or swayed—by his cooking prowess. She stuffed her damp undies in her backpack and started down the hallway, following the aroma of frying onions.
    When she entered the kitchen Matt already had the steaks on the grill and was chopping tomatoes into a salad bowl. His freshly shampooed hair gleamed under the light and he wore another of those soft-looking jumpers.
    She looked around for something to do. ‘You want me to finish that?’
    â€˜All under control.’ He inclined his head towards a jug of juice topped with mint leaves and ice. ‘Help yourself.’
    â€˜Thank you.’ She noted he already had one at his elbow and poured herself a glass. She felt dumb standing around without a task so she hefted herself onto a breakfast stool. ‘Do you cook often?’
    â€˜Not as often as I like. Too busy. This week’s going to give me a good opportunity. You?’
    â€˜Hate it.’ She sipped the juice. Freshly juiced orange, pineapple and passionfruit. ‘This is nice.’
    â€˜Juicing it at home’s a vast improvement over supermarket brands. So…Ellie.’ Multi-tasking Matt gave the onions a stir, flipped the steaks, reached for the cucumber. ‘You mentioned you lived around here as a child. Do your parents still live in Melbourne?’
    â€˜No.’ She didn’t want to talk about her parents. It reminded her of how alone she was. But in the ensuing silence she knew courtesy demanded