Out of Bounds (6 page)

“Cold and faceless, you mean?”

He wouldn’t let her get away with that.
“Innovative. Aesthetically right for the twenty-first century. Eco
efficient. Vigorous functional designs that are
people-friendly.”

“People-friendly!” Jetta scoffed. “Brutal,
ugly, dehumanizing buildings, if you ask me.”

“What’s ‘dehumanizing’ about Ballentine Park
Mews? I’m making ideal use of the land.”

“Everyone jammed so tightly together...”

“You need never see your neighbors if you
don’t want to; I’ve planned total privacy. The apartments will be
double-glazed, properly insulated, and thermal efficiency will keep
the need for artificial heating to a minimum. More than you can say
for some of those drafty old rabbit warrens you seem so fond
of.”

Her eyebrows winged up. “But they’re
beautiful,” she insisted. “The high ceilings and deep cornices, the
wide stairways with their carved banisters, the generous
spaces...”

“All of which are wasteful.”

“So you think everyone should live in white
painted, hard surfaced, glass fronted, square-stopped boxes?”

He caught the twitch of her mouth and the
glimmer of mirth in her eyes just in time. “Stop winding me up,” he
said, enjoying the thrust and parry of their argument more than he
should be. She was the enemy. She was the one who just hours ago
had treated him as though he was a loathsome liar trying to steal
her home.

Now she sat at his table, eating food and
drinking wine that he’d provided, looking pretty damn edible
herself. And he wondered how else he could impress her.

God—if she could see what was refusing to die down in
his pants she’d be impressed...

Jetta searched her addled brain for some sort
of equilibrium. Her head felt full of unraveling knitting—as
tangled as Gran’s sometimes used to get when old Pusscat found the
wool bag and had a field day.

This was hopeless. She smiled, despite her
best efforts not to.

Anton didn’t deserve smiles. He’d frightened
her half to death by bursting right in to her home that morning and
saying he was going to demolish it. He hadn’t even knocked.

Then he’d pretended she should know all about
it.

She’d been shocked out of her mind—terrified
to be caught on her own. Even clutching the old spade hadn’t really
made her feel safe.

And yet...? She’d somehow found the courage
to come back here with him—and into his bedroom, no less.

Because that’s where the plans were, of
course.

Yes, she’d panicked a little, but not too
badly. Then visions of Anton had taken over from thoughts of Uncle
Graham as they stood together at the drawing board, even if it was
only for a few dreamy seconds.

Maybe it was okay now because there was the
table between them, and she knew he couldn’t reach across and grab
her. Even so, it amazed her. He’d declared he’d be moving in to
Gran’s house, although she was determined he wouldn’t be, and she
still found him good company.

She took another sip of her wine and
inspected him covertly. In the softening light of near dusk his
skin looked a deeper gold.

His face was long, like his body. Dark hair
sprang back from his smooth forehead, short around his ears and at
his neckline. But it stood up a couple of inches on top of his
head, thick and a little unruly, as though he often thrust his
fingers back through it.

How would it feel, running my hands through
it?

Her fingertips itched with anticipation, and
she lowered her gaze a little.

Above his vivid blue eyes, his brows were
strong and almost straight. As thick and dark as the hair on his
head.

He was freshly shaved. She liked that he’d
done that for her. Or had he? Maybe he always shaved when he
showered? But somehow she knew he’d made an extra effort because of
her birthday.

His shirt had a couple of buttons undone at
the neck. A proper business shirt, not just a casual polo or tee.
The spicy brown complimented his sun-gilded skin. He’d flipped the
sleeves back a couple of turns, and the tendons moved in his
forearm as he stabbed a morsel of smoked salmon.

She flicked her eyes back up to his face.
High cheekbones under those amazing eyes, and slightly hollowed
cheeks. The words ‘lean and hungry’ sprang easily to mind.

He had a long, straight nose—no tell-tale
bumps to indicate mishaps on the rugby field. She pictured him
loping along on a cricket pitch, or arrowing down off a high diving
board, sleek and controlled.

But his mouth was the treat she saved for
last. Exactly as wide as his nose was long, she thought,
unconsciously measuring and memorizing. Was the symmetry why he
looked so good?

His top lip bowed sharply, but once again it
was the sensuously full lower one that made her catch her breath.
That sulky cushion of smooth flesh appeared to be the only soft
thing about him, and all the more attractive for the contrast.

It was nothing like Uncle Graham’s thin mean
mouth that he used to press against hers in a slimy slobber when
her parents were out of the house.

She shivered and wrapped her arms across her
breasts in an unconscious barrier.

“What’s wrong?” Anton’s tone cut sharply
through her memories.

“What do you mean?”

“Your expression changed. You looked as
though you’d seen something repulsive. And it was me you were
looking straight at.”

“No,” she protested. “Just an old memory.
Someone long gone.”

But he keeps coming back. Will I ever get rid
of him?

“Sorry,” she added, trying to make
amends.

“Another man?”

“That would be a flattering description of
him,” she murmured. “I’d go as far as ‘male animal’ perhaps.”

“So why are you sitting here with me and
thinking about someone else?” he pressed.

She could hardly say ‘because you’re
wonderful compared to him’. Anton appeared arrogantly sure of
himself without her pumping his self esteem any higher. No—she
needed to discourage him.

“Just a birthday memory. Nothing
special.”

“But he didn’t treat you well? Not from that
description?”

This was the last thing she needed. She
glanced down at her food and chased an olive around the plate to
avoid looking at him again. And then—salvation—someone banged loud
and long on her front door. The sharp noise of the knocker carried
in the still air.

“Visitors,” she said with relief, starting to
rise.

“I’ll let them know them where you are.”
Anton strode off toward the front of the property.

“She’s over here,” he called so someone
unseen. A chuckle rose in Jetta’s throat at Hallie and Bren’s
lively exclamations and giggles. Spying, of course.

Soon the two girls came tottering up his
driveway, glamorous in high shoes and short skirts.

“We didnae mean to interrupt anything,” Bren
protested, all innocence. All innocence and all eyes, Jetta saw,
pleased Anton’s long lithe body and arresting face would easily
pass inspection.

“Looking good in your birthday suit,” Bren
threw in her direction once they were all in the shelter of the
courtyard.

Jetta closed her eyes.

“I take it these two...ladies...are your old
flat-mates?” Anton asked. She grinned at his deliciously insulting
hesitation.

“The dark one is Hallie, and the redhead is
Bren,” she managed over a giggle. “Yes—they’ve been my flat-mates
for the last several years. They’re very old indeed.”

“The terrible trio,” Hallie said.

“But sadly no more,” Bren needled. “She’s
left us to do her decorator thing and renovate her very own
home.”

“Stop teasing him,” Jetta protested. “It’s
not really his fault. Oh—Anton Haviland, Bren McKay and Hallie
Dragos,” she added, remembering the old-fashioned courtesy Gran and
Grandpa had drilled into her.

Anton pulled two more chairs up to the table
and the girls sat. Hallie stole the olive Jetta had been pushing
around her plate. Bren snagged Jetta’s champagne for a sip, and
then glanced at the bottle. Anton took the hint, and went inside
for more glasses.

“You’re right—he’s plenty hot,” Bren said,
mercifully almost in a whisper.

“Have you come spying?”

“Us?” Hallie asked.

“Yes—you. I know what you’re like. Nosey
as.”

“Noooo—we just thought we’d bring you a nice
housewarming present and have a wee look at your Gran’s place now
it’s all yours,” Bren soothed.

“Maybe not
all
mine. And where’s the
present?” Jetta asked, eyeing their empty hands.

“On your front step.”

“Will it melt?”

Hallie giggled. “It’s not chocolate.”

“What’s not chocolate?” Anton asked as he
returned. “Don’t you like chocolate?”

“Love it.”

He set the extra glasses down, and poured.
Bren and Hallie raised their drinks in Jetta’s direction.

“Happy birthday Jetta,” they chorused.

“And may you be very happy with Anton,” Bren
added with a small wicked smile.

“We’re not setting up house together. We
can’t stand each other...”

“Aye, I can see that—sitting here having a
private supper and drinking champers on such a nice evening.”

“For her birthday,” Anton said. “No-one else
seems to have arranged a celebration.”

“Not easy with her Gran the way she was,”
Hallie protested.

“And we
have
arranged a wee
treat—we’ve come to take her to the movies,” Bren said. “You could
come too, Anton?”

Hallie burst into renewed giggles.

“What?” Jetta demanded. “You’re up to
something. I know that laugh.”

“No, it’s a genuine offer,” Bren said,
feigning a hurt expression. “Girls’ Night Out. Special late double
feature at the Embassy. ‘Dirty Dancing’ and ‘Sex in the City’—just
the thing for a red-blooded man like Anton.”

Jetta tried to hide her grin. “He’ll pass on
that,” she said. “But is this for real? What time?”

“Of course it’s for real,” Ben said. “We
wouldn’t tempt you with the divine Patrick and then not
deliver.”

“Nine-thirty,” Hallie added, “so there’s time
for a look at your house first. And we can stay in town for a drink
afterward, yeah?”

Jetta checked her watch. “Are we finished
here?” she asked.

Empty glasses thudded down onto the table in
unison.

“Okay,” she agreed. “House inspection
time.”

“I’ll come over in a minute and take some of that
tape off,” Anton said, but the girls were already rising and
chattering like a flock of colorful birds.

He watched as they strolled off arm in
arm—Bren in a small electric-blue and white dress, Hallie in a
flirty gold skirt and violet blouse, and Jetta sandwiched between
them in her slippery red top and snug fitting black leather
trousers.

Not quite sex in the city. But certainly sex
in the suburbs.

“You see—we really did buy you a housewarming
present,” Hallie teased, reaching down for a gift-wrapped box
hidden behind the pot of petunias on the lowest step. “Just a
little something to remind you of us when you’re gone.”

“Whenever
that
might be,” Jetta
grumped, levering the pot up so she could grab the keys just as
Anton arrived.

“I hope you don’t always leave them there,”
he said, scowling.

“Only when my trousers are so tight the bulge
in the pocket would spoil the line,” she said, light-headed with
champagne, and wanting to annoy him. “I hardly needed to bring my
bag next door.”

“Save me from stupid women,” he muttered.

“Not stupid at all,” she snapped. “The keys
were perfectly safe here. I was only over the fence.”

“This time.”

“We heard Bren and Hallie knocking, so we
would have heard burglars.”

Anton drew an annoyed breath, and she
enjoying the way his nostrils flared and his chest firmed up inside
the spice-brown shirt. Did his narrowed eyes spit blue sparks?

“Yeah—burglars always knock like they’re
trying to break the door down,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Don’t be so uptight—your precious house is
perfectly safe.”

“My
house
? It’s not the house I’m
worried about. That’s the last thing on my mind.” He glared at her.
“Have you been sleeping here and leaving the keys outside?”

“Och, he’s going all protective,” Bren
cooed.

“Of course I haven’t!”

“Almost like a lovers’ tiff,” Hallie
agreed.

“Like hell,” Anton threw in her
direction.

Jetta dropped the keys, bent with difficulty
in her tight trousers, picked them up again, and fumbled until she
found the right one. The front door swung open with a horror-movie
creak.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” she said,
sketching as much of a curtsey as she could. The gift-wrapped box
jangled as she flung her arms wide. “What the...?” she exclaimed,
giving it a firmer shake. This time it sounded very annoyed.

“For your garden,” Bren said.

“A dinner gong?”

“Open it, stupid. Can we come inside?”

Jetta switched on the light and they trooped
in.

“The main hallway,” she said in her best tour guide
voice. “Walls will soon be white. Boards will soon be bare. This
way to the sitting room.”

Anton sauntered in behind them and continued
through to the kitchen. The pink cupboard doors offended him too—no
wonder Jetta hated them. But it was absolutely not worth it for the
short term. Unless...

He remembered the small cans of Burmese
Bronze and Coconut Milk paint he’d bought for his sample boards. He
had plenty left in each. If he combined them—even sloshed a bit of
white in to bulk up the volume—they’d come somewhere close to the
sisal color she’d described.

That’d sweeten her up. Maybe make her easier
to live with. Even though it wasn’t the hard glossy enamel paint he
really needed, it would last long enough.