Free Your Room or Mine? by Charlotte Phillips Page A

and I don’t think I’d ever feel like that.’
    For some reason the way he used her first name made her stomach give a tiny skip. His answer puzzled her.
    â€˜I don’t understand. It’s not like you’ve got to graft all the hours God sends to make ends meet. A top City lawyer? You probably make more in a month than I do in a year.’
    He laughed.
    â€˜And I don’t even have to wield a spade.’
    She smiled back.
    â€˜I’m serious. What have you got to prove that won’t let you take the occasional weekend off?’
    He looked thoughtful for a moment, as if drafting a suitable answer in his head.
    â€˜It all comes down to drive, I guess,’ he said. ‘You can never really be certain of success,’ he said. ‘You’re as good as your last case and things can turn around in a heartbeat. When you take your eye off the ball, that’s when things slide.’
    â€˜There’s nothing wrong with having a good work ethic,’ she said. ‘I mean the hours I’ve put in trying to build up some kind of paying business. It’s just important to have a life outside of work too.’
    â€˜As long as it doesn’t detract from work, I agree.’
    She shook her head.
    â€˜All work and no play,’ she said.
    â€˜I play,’ he said. ‘When it works for me. When play is all it is.’
    The way he was looking at her, the undertone in the hazel eyes, made her heart beat up the pace as if she’d just run a few circuits of the garden. She braced herself for him to make a move, drew in a breath, and then just as quickly he snapped his gaze away and turned towards the side gate and the front of the house.
    â€˜I have to get back to work,’ he said. ‘Send over your spec and the contract details and I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.’
    She stared after him, mind whirling. He hadn’t even touched her, not even to shake her hand. Her nerves were tingling, her body over-sensitised as anticipation dissolved away and worst of all, disappointment stabbed her sharply in the ribs. Definitely not allowed, disappointment would mean she actually cared what happened between them. She shoved the thought away.
    Maybe a garden renovation was all he wanted after all.

CHAPTER SIX
    Two weeks and the only communication from her had been work related. A detailed graphic spec of his garden that impressed him in its detail and professional presentation, a contract which he’d duly signed and had returned to her along with the generous up front payment she requested. No contact with him on any social level and her continued indifference (be it real or faked) intrigued him as much as ever. The trip back from Manchester was punctuated by vague pangs of excitement, alien to him, as he thought of seeing her again tomorrow and taking control of the other aspect of their agreement.
    As he pulled into the drive in front of his house in the twilight, his first reaction was irritation as he nearly ran the Maserati into a half-full skip of garden rubbish. His second reaction was a leap of anticipation deep in his stomach as he saw her van parked to the side of it.
    She was still here.
    He walked through the house and saw movement outside in the garden.
    â€˜Don’t come any closer!’ she called as he opened the kitchen door. ‘The mud’s horrendous.’
    He picked his way into the garden. She was standing in the middle of the area that from memory was earmarked for flagstones. Her work clothes were muddy, she wore heavy gloves and there was sand in her hair. She’d been here for two days and on the whole the garden looked worse.
    â€˜Looking good,’ he said doubtfully. There were piles of rubbish and stones to the side of the space, huge bags of sand and topsoil that she’d had delivered, tools.
    She pulled a face.
    â€˜It will be. It’s at the transitional stage. First you strip everything back and rip