Out of Bounds (19 page)

She rocked to and fro, rubbing and sliding,
and delicious ripples of heat and pleasure pulsed where their
bodies met.

“Up,” he grated, desire lending desperation
to his voice as he bucked his hips against her. When she sank down
again he held himself on the perfect angle, and she inched him just
inside, cautiously further, triumphantly all the way home until he
was seated deep.

She collapsed down onto his chest, groaning
at his full glorious invasion. “We’ve done it,” she gasped, almost
sobbing with relief.

He laughed, and his arms held her safe as he
rolled a half turn on the big bed and reared up over her.

“Ya reckon?” he asked, blue eyes wicked. And
then he started to move.

Jetta tried to hold still so he could do what
he wanted, but that…slipping…sliding… sensation was impossible not
to react to. Anton had switched on her internal fairy lights. Her
nerve endings twinkled and sparkled as he pushed slowly in, as he
held her gaze with his, as he closed his eyes as though it felt
good for him too, as he pulled slowly out again until he almost
slipped free.

“No—come back!” she insisted, panicked.

His blue eyes snapped open and a smile curled
at the corners of his mouth.

“Not going anywhere,” he whispered, hovering
over her for a few seconds as she willed him to do it again.

Then he pushed down, and again her nerves did
the brilliant pinpoints of light thing deep inside.

“Still okay?” He started to ease back out
again.

“Yes. Amazing….ooohhh….” She buried her teeth
in her bottom lip as he slid past somewhere incredibly good.

“Don’t want to hurt you or spook you.”

“Not hurting me,” she assured him. “Not
spooking me. Is it nice for you too?”

He shook his head as he changed direction
again. “Not nice. So much better than nice.”

She groaned as he pushed deep.

“Awful job, but someone’s gotta do it,” he
teased, nuzzling her neck and, dropping small kisses along her jaw
line.

“I’m glad it’s you,” she said, searching for
his lips, finding them, clinging as he picked up the pace. She
eased her thighs further apart, loving the weight of him, the
smoothness of his back as she clutched him close, the tickly
roughness of his chest hair against her breasts.

Relief flooded all through her. Relief that
she’d done it at last. Relief that it felt so good. She wriggled
against him to get nearer, nearer, as he thrust into her, setting
up ever-stronger ripples of sensation. The kiss grew hotter,
tongues twining and dancing.

Holding him in her arms didn’t feel like
enough. She wrapped her legs around him, too, urging him to plunge
deeper and faster as the kiss became ever more desperate.

They broke apart only when their mutual need
for oxygen became critical. “Remember the book?” Anton panted.
“With the man underneath? I want you like that. Yes?”

“Yes,” she gasped, rubbing her face over his
shoulder, dragging her lips along his skin.

“Hold tight.” He knelt up, pulling her with
him, the strength of his big body barely challenged.

In seconds she sat astride him, smiling down
at his satisfied grin, watching his chest rise and fall as his
breathing calmed. His gaze slid down to her breasts.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, as he reached for
her. “Come here.” And he drew her down as though she was the Joy of
Sex woman. He stretched up to capture one pink peak with his lips,
and Jetta slowly relaxed, leaning lower with a blissful sigh. His
hot mouth teased and sucked, pulling at her nipple until it felt
long and sexy. His fingers tweaked the other one, rolling and
pulling, sending urgent messages deep inside her.

The fairy lights inside switched to
double-speed twinkle, and, unable to stay still, she began to ride
him. Slowly her confidence grew, and the heavenly sensation
intensified. Anton deserted her nipple and pulled her down for
another passionate kiss, bucking up into her with long smooth
strokes.

“Babes, that is so
good
,” he groaned, before
clamping his mouth around her other nipple and reaching between
their bodies to caress her clit with his thumb. Drowning in
pleasure, she followed where he led until her internal muscles
fluttered and clenched around him and her sharp cries of ecstasy
blended with his hoarse gasps of release.

Jetta stretched blissfully as the Saturday
sunlight spilled across the bed. Her skin brushed against Anton’s
warm body. The bones in her spine and her fingers popped and
settled back into place with satisfied glides. God—she felt
amazing!

“Where do you think you’re going?” he
mumbled.

“Nowhere,” she said, curling herself against
his back, snuggling closer, and sliding an arm around his waist.
“Again?” she exclaimed, as her hand bumped against his impressive
morning erection. She wrapped her fingers around it.

“Are you begging or complaining?”

“I’m appreciating...”

“Hmmmmmm...”

She smiled at his sleepy response, not at all
surprised he wasn’t leaping into immediate action. He’d brought her
alive the night before in ways she’d never suspected possible. Time
and again he’d murmured ‘let me’ and she’d relaxed, and trusted,
and been pushed over the brink as he showed her how wonderful
making love could be.

Making love? Her fingers stopped their
suggestive massage.

Sex. They’d had sex. That was all it was.
Love didn’t enter into the equation. Couldn’t possibly. He was just
an unexpected housemate who’d been there when she’d needed a warm
body to cling to.

To block out the hideous memories of the
fire.

To block out the hideous memories of Uncle
Graham.

To love
, her brain insisted.

To love for a week in secret, maybe.

“Why’ve you stopped?” he asked.

She kissed his shoulder, breathing in his
scent. “Thought you wanted to sleep,” she murmured.

“With you doing that? Not a hope, little
girl!”

And suddenly he loomed over her again, blocking out
the sun—all muscles and stubble and glorious masculine
challenge.

He’s the enemy
, she thought an hour
later as he strode across the bare earth where the house at number
seventeen had recently stood.
He’s stealing my house and now
he’s stealing my heart
.

She heaved a huge sigh and shook her head,
weary from lack of sleep and the constant turmoil in her brain.
Yes, he was the enemy, but such a charming and desirable one. He’d
cut the ground from under her and swept all her qualms out of the
way as thoroughly as the roaring machine was pushing the rich
topsoil aside on the property next door.

The driver halted at Anton’s approach and she
heard conversation being shouted over the engine’s noisy idle.
Anton planted his hands on his hips, then dropped to a squat to
examine something. The blue denim stretched tight around his butt,
and she stood on at the window a little longer, enjoying the
view.

The big tattooed driver clambered down and
the two men paced further across the dark bulldozed ground
together, stopping now and then to kick at the earth. Even from
this distance, she could tell Anton was furious about
something.

Ten minutes later, he returned and toed off
his dirt encrusted boots at the back door. Whatever had made him
angry was huge. The tension in his jaw threw the tendons of his
neck into sharp relief. His eyes were no longer the blue of a lake
under summer sky; now they crackled with the cold blue-grey of
shadows in icy crevasses. And as for his mouth—who would dare kiss
that down-turned slash? Not her. “Coffee?” she asked.

He shook his head, barely glancing at her. “I
need to get away from this place for a while,” he snapped. “Do you
want to try for brunch at one of the cafés around the bays?”

Well, at least she was included—but did she
really want to be if he was acting so strangely?

“Okay, yes. And I need to pick up my dry
cleaning. I got them to do it at the overnight urgent rate.”

Anton nodded, plainly miles away.

She summoned up some courage. After last
night, she could face most things. Even him in a foul mood. “Can I
help with whatever it is?”

Her only answer was a muttered curse and a
surly shake of his head as he strode from the room.

He was no more communicative over brunch,
stabbing at his eggs and hash browns as though he’d rather kill
them than eat them. Jetta drizzled maple syrup over her pancakes,
and drew patterns in it with her fork—far from hungry, and full of
dread and curiosity.

Finally, Anton abandoned his meal with a
clatter of cutlery against his stoneware plate and lounged back,
one elbow hooked over the corner of his chair back.

“Is it me?” Jetta asked. “Because we don’t
have to do it again.”

His eyes shot to hers. The faintest glimmer
of a smile played about his gorgeous lips. “Damn,” he said. “The
thought of more fun with you is the only bright spot in my day
right now. No, it’s not you.”

She pressed her lips together. Was that all
he was going to tell her?

“Will you eat any more?” he asked, surveying
her stack of hacked-about pancakes. “You seem about as hungry as
me.”

“Not hungry at all,” she said. “Whatever’s
wrong
?”

He drew a deep, deep breath. “Come for a
walk. Walls have ears...”

Mystified, she followed him out into the
salty air. He reached for her hand, and for once seemed happy to
saunter at her slower pace rather than dashing along with his usual
energy.

“It’s definitely not you,” he said, rasping
his other hand over his stubbly chin. “It’s the project, but I
didn’t want the least chance of anyone overhearing.”

“And?” Dread ran like ice water through her
veins. Yesterday he’d been on top of the world, but yesterday he’d
been less than her lover. Now he was everything to her, and what
was bad for him was every bit as bad for her.

He continued to walk in silence for a while
longer, face grim, eyes focused out to sea, but his thumb ran over
and over hers in a tiny warm caress so she held her tongue until he
was ready to tell her more.

“Soft spots!” he suddenly spat out. “Bloody
soft spots! The ground’s full of peat. God knows how far we’ll have
to excavate to find a solid platform to build on.” He shoved an
angry hand back through his hair. Anger boiled off him in dense
clouds. Jetta imagined steam rising.

“Peat? I suppose that’s why the Camellias
grow so well around there. There are lots of them over in the
park,” she said.

“You’re not helping, Ms Horticulture,” he
muttered between clenched teeth. “I’m kicking myself. I should have
got a thorough geological survey done. So much for trying to save a
few dollars. But—flat land, built on for the last eighty or ninety
years, no obvious problems. Who’d expect that? It’s not like it’s
the side of an unstable damn hill, or a gulley someone’s filled in
and not compacted properly...”

Jetta shrugged, unable to help, and knowing
he didn’t really want her opinion anyway.

“The alternative is to drive dozens of long
piles in to float the concrete foundation slab on,” he fumed. “Nine
or ten meters deep, depending on how far down the bloody soft spots
go.”

Suddenly unable to contain his frustration,
he let go her hand and vaulted up to stand on the sea wall, hands
alternately thrust into his jeans pockets or his hair, eyes closed
as he tried to ignore the enormity of the problem, then wide open
again as he stared down at her.

“The difference could be another two or three
hundred thousand bucks over the whole site. That’s money I don’t
have. Where the hell am I going to get it?”

“You could borrow?”

“Babes, I’ve borrowed until I squeak. I’ve
everything invested in this scheme. All my savings for the past ten
years. Everything except the car. I’m running so close to the wind
that one more gust’ll knock me over.”

He stood balanced against the sea, fuming and
worrying.

“I need to get a couple more sold,” he said.
“The deposits would almost see me through—for now. What a freaking
mess!”

“Perhaps you could just build four?” she
asked. Maybe Gran’s house might be safe after all, and she could
continue with her plan to renovate and live there.

“Four? Dream on! I’ve budgeted for eight—all
the economies of scale are geared to eight. Any fewer and the whole
project collapses.”

He jumped down to give her an absentminded
hug—the merest clasp of a hand around her waist, and a very
approximate kiss on one cheekbone. After his tender thoroughness of
the night before it felt less than enough. “No, it’s eight or
nothing,” he continued, releasing her and starting to walk again.
“And right now it’s looking more like nothing.” He pressed the heel
of his hand against his forehead as if that might realign his
thinking and send the problems packing.

“Can you borrow more somewhere else?”

He gave a bitter laugh. “Where did you have
in mind?”

“I don’t
know
, Anton. I haven’t a clue
where you’ve already borrowed from. Banks? Mortgage brokers?
Lawyers?”

“Yup—plus my mother, and Ben and Paul, who
all helped to back me in a small way and hoped to make a profit.”
He shot her an anguished look. “God—I’ll take them down with me at
this rate. And my credit cards are maxed to their limits, too. Any
more good ideas?”

“Surely it’ll be okay somehow?”

He brushed her optimism aside. “I was still
just safe until this jumped up and bit me. Just safe. Big risk, big
reward.”

His long lively face contorted with worry.
She thought of his devil-may-care throat slitting gesture the day
before. There’d been no worried expression then; now his air of
concern was palpable.