Free Your Room or Mine? by Charlotte Phillips Page B

everything out that needs to go and it looks at its worst. But you have to do that so it can start looking better.’ She wiped the back of her hand across her face, smudging it with dirt. ‘I was just finishing up. Wanted to get this cleared done so the next stage can start tomorrow. I’ll be out of your way in just a minute.’
    Her honey coloured hair was caught up in a loose topknot with strands escaping around her face. He realised from the diminishing quality of the light just how late it was. He was tired from his business trip and company was usually low on his list of requirements in the evening. Yet he found something else about her that drew him in, besides that physical attraction that simmered inside him. Getting dark and she was still heaving rubble about? She had a seriously demonic work ethic. And if he could relate to anything, it was that.
    â€˜Stay,’ he said on impulse. ‘Stay and have dinner.’
    She shook her head.
    â€˜Thanks but I’ve got a ready-meal at home and a microwave.’
    â€˜It’s no trouble. I insist.’ He turned his back against any further protestations she might have and led the way into the house, talking over his shoulder. ‘To be honest, I’d like the company. It’s been a heavy day.’
    Izzy stared at his back, unsure now of where this was going. There had been no mention of their garden party agreement since she’d started work here, no contact for two weeks beyond the signed and returned contract, and now he simply turned up and invited her to stay for dinner. No,
insisted
she stay for dinner. Was this how it was to be? Did he really want to share dinner with her, or was that just code, a hoop to jump through before he could progress this to a more physical conclusion?
    She pushed away the deliberations. Physical desire for him had bubbled inside her since the garden party, as if she could discard him from her mind when she knew one night was an end to it, but now knowing there could be more the hunger for it had grown inside her. She couldn’t seem to help it. And the intoxicating thought of where this might lead between them tonight made her catch her breath. Why should she care whether he wanted her company or just her touch?
    She paused at the door as she looked into his pristine kitchen. He hadn’t thought this through.
    â€˜Look at the state of me, Oliver. I’ll walk soil and brick dust all through your house. What am I going to do, sit on a newspaper? It’s been a long day and I need a shower.’
    He smiled at her, that protest-melting lopsided smile.
    â€˜I’ve got one of those,’ he said. ‘You can shower while I cook. Top of the stairs, first on the left. There’s a spare robe on the back of the door, you can borrow that if you’ve got no change of clothes.’
    She hesitated a moment longer.
    â€˜Come on, by the time you get home it will be seriously late. And you have a ready-meal and a microwave?’ He shook his head pityingly. ‘It’s dinner, not a proposal of marriage.’
    She left her work boots by the back door and went upstairs.
    First door on the left was the most beautifully finished bathroom she’d ever seen. Showroom polished, it looked as if she was the first person ever to use it and perhaps she was, he’d only just finished the renovations. In keeping with the Victorian fixtures, there was a beautiful roll-top bath, painted wood panelling and intricate black and white floor tiles. There were expensive bath products on the side shelf, fluffy white towels, soap in an ornate dish. But it was brochure-perfect, not remotely lived-in. There was no evidence of any female overnight guests. She stepped into the shower and let the water cascade in hot rivulets over her body, soaping her hair and washing off her day.
    She toyed with putting her clothes back on – they might be dusty but to put on the bathrobe would be an unspoken