Free Out of Bounds by Kris Pearson Page B

her wet,
slippery and covered in soapsuds, so he did that for a few
pleasurable minutes. When the sound ebbed away, he pushed his knife
and fork aside with a clatter, picked up the crust of his toast,
and wiped it around the plate to gather up the last smears of egg
yolk. It was time to see if his efforts with the cupboard doors had
made any difference to her prickly temper.
    Jetta paused, spoon halfway to her mouth,
when Anton knocked on the door. How would she ever be able to look
him in the eye after what she’d done—what she’d seen!—the previous
night?
    Had he known it was her doing the looking and
touching?
    Resigned to getting it over with, she padded
barefoot along the hallway and pulled the door open, inspecting her
jeans and feet with great interest as he walked in. She dared not
glance directly at him in case she saw condemnation in his vivid
blue eyes.
    “Great morning,” he said, as if nothing had
happened.
    “Lovely,” she agreed as he walked past. As
fast as that the trembles hit her again.
    He wore the same old khaki shorts and
sneakers she’d found him in the night before, but the morning sun
showed her more than the moonlight ever had. He was utterly
frighteningly male.
    Even though a dark T-shirt covered his upper
body, just seeing his muscular legs striding along set all her
nerves on edge. He was so much bigger and more powerful than her.
How could she possibly risk living in the same house with him?
    The self-defense course that Dr Julia Menzies
had insisted she took seemed like a joke. The fancy throws and
tricks she’d been taught counted for nothing. Anton would overpower
her in seconds.
    She tried to appear cool and calm, but behind
that façade she burned with tension and terror.
    He sent her an enquiring grin as he crossed
to the corner where he’d left his toolbox.
    “You’re very quiet,” he said. “Did I get the
color somewhere near right?” He nodded toward the cupboards.
    “Oh!” she exclaimed, shaken out of her
silence. “I should have said thank you the instant I saw you. The
change is amazing.”
    “Just a temporary job, but it’s a definite
improvement on the pink.”
    She nodded, recalling the slice of cake as
well. She should thank him for that, too, but she didn’t want him
thinking a few favors would change the situation between them.
Mercifully, he started to speak again before she did.
    “When you’ve finished that,” he said,
indicating her bowl of rapidly sogging muesli, “I’ve got an ideal
job for you. Unless you’d rather tape some edges?”
    “So what’s the alternative?”
    “Screw all those knobs and handles back on.
You can get in some practice for that lock you were brandishing
around yesterday.”
    The warmth of a blush traveled up her neck.
The lock—how embarrassing to need it. She could never go mixed
flatting. Bren had done that years ago, and only moved out on the
boys and in with her and Hallie because of the endless sci-fi
movies and noisy sports programs on TV. But then again, Bren was
Bren—sharp-tongued and confident. Jetta couldn’t imagine herself in
the same situation.
    “I’m happy doing handles,” she said, ignoring
his comment about the lock, and spooning up more muesli so she
didn’t have to talk.
    “I’ll get onto the sitting room, then.”
    He walked across and slid the glass doors
open, looking perfectly at home. How much did he know about the
house? Had he explored last night when she’d been out?
    Of course he had, she thought with
resentment. After all, she’d found him in the front bedroom.
    She stood leaning against the doorframe,
chewing for longer than she needed to while he hauled the heavy
sofa and armchairs away from the walls. The crocheted multi-colored
medallion rugs and the faded olive green velvet showed evidence of
being very well clawed by old Pusscat, and very well sat on by Gran
and Grandpa over many years.
    Jetta swallowed her mouthful at last, and
waved a spoon at the furniture.