Out of Bounds (9 page)

With the wisdom of hindsight, he saw it might
have been an attempt to stop his Saturday night dates lasting
through into snoozy Sunday mornings in girlfriends’ beds.

Clever woman, Isobel Scott. Not that he
hadn’t spent plenty of snoozy mornings…

He grinned to himself, and then wondered how
she and her sister were getting on. Would they soon be eating bacon
and eggs on their holiday island off the Australian coast? No, much
more likely they’d be on some sort of sisterly diet thing and
getting into guilt-free bowls of mango and pawpaw and melon.

He finished breakfast and leaned back against
the trellis for a few minutes, savoring the sun on his skin,
knowing he’d have to start the wall painting again soon.

Jetta was up. Water was running at number fifteen and
he presumed she was showering. Not hard to imagine 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. “They’re so awful they’re not even
worth giving away.”

Anton’s mouth quirked at that. “Glad you
don’t want to keep them,” he agreed.

“Do you want me to give you a hand to lift
the chairs out?” she asked. “Or Nick could help when he brings the
van. They can sit around the side of the house until the big bin
arrives.”

“Or on the front lawn in case someone takes a
fancy to them.”

“Don’t be so offensive,” she snapped. “You’re
making fun of my Gran and Grandpa’s possessions.”

Anton raised one hand in a gesture that she
took meant ‘sorry’, then lifted one of the overstuffed armchairs
and started to carry it in her direction.

“You can’t do that,” she objected. “It’s far
too heavy.”

“Make sure there’s nothing in my way, can
you?” He ignored her and advanced around the dining table.

Jetta cast a panicked glance down the hallway
and shot ahead to grab a vase of ‘sorry to hear about your Gran’
lilies off a narrow oak table. She backed into the front bedroom,
keeping them safe until he was past.

“Door?” he suggested.

She dumped the lilies on the table again and
pulled it open for him. His arms were taut and corded, but that was
the only sign of effort.

The panic waves cranked up again and she
closed her eyes.
That chair weighs more than me. I wouldn’t
stand a chance if he pulled an Uncle Graham stunt.

Anton returned a few seconds later and
carried the second chair out. Again, she snatched the lilies from
danger, this time with trembling hands.

“You needn’t think I’m helping with the
sofa,” she objected, setting the vase back into place as he
returned.

“Yes, that’s a job for the boyfriend.”

“Nick. He’s a courier.”

“Which explains why he’ll have an empty van
on a Sunday. I’ve been picturing an angry plumber or electrician
having to take all his gear out so he could fit that hideous suite
in.”

“He’d do it for Bren.”

“Lucky Bren. True devotion, eh? I’ve never
seen a tradesman’s van on a building site that wouldn’t take hours
to unpack.”

Before they had time to return to the
kitchen, a double toot sounded. A sign-written van braked to a halt
beside the curb, and Bren and Hallie spilled out from the front
seat, balancing takeaway coffees.

“Och—will you look at those!” Bren exclaimed,
examining the old velvet chairs with their fraying and colorful
rugs. “I can’t imagine how you got to be a decorator growing up
around furniture like that.”

“A deep desire to provide the world with
something better?” Hallie suggested.

“There’s a humungous sofa to match,” Jetta said with
an embarrassed shrug. “We were wondering if Nick would help us
carry it out.” Yet again, she grabbed the lilies before they
tumbled.

The bedroom suite took a little persuading
into the van, but all the pieces were finally stowed.

“Are you taking the bed as well?” Anton
asked. “It’s very comfortable—I slept on it last night.”

Bren’s eyes swiveled to Jetta’s.

“Jetta Rivers—you total trollop!” she
exclaimed. “You said you were going to keep your hands off
him.”

“I did,” Jetta protested, knowing that she
hadn’t.

“That’s not what Anton’s saying, is it?”

“He’s...that’s not...I didn’t,” Jetta
mumbled, turning bright red. “Sleep with him, that is,” she added,
wanting to make her position quite clear.

“Not much sleeping done at all,” Anton said,
faking a huge overdone yawn.

“
Why
did you say that to them?” she
demanded once Hallie, Bren and Nick had roared off. “You know what
they’ll all be thinking now.”

“Only telling the truth,” Anton said,
enjoying her reaction. She’d thrust her hands into her dark hair so
it stood up like a stormy sea. Her big eyes flashed daggers at him.
And the delicate pink flush on her cheeks made her look like a
flustered doll. “I hardly slept last night—I seemed to be dreaming
non-stop. Must have been the paint fumes.”

“Yeah, right,” she muttered. “That wall paint
hardly smells at all.”

She turned away and started scrabbling around
in the heap of knobs and handles.

Anton grinned to himself. Things were going
better today. She really couldn’t grouch at him too much after his
effort with the cupboard doors.

And the cake—has she mentioned the cake?

“Did you enjoy the cake?”

“What cake?” she demanded. But he saw from
her annoyed expression that she had. Then her face softened. “Not
enough candles.”

“All I could find in the cupboard.”

By the end of the afternoon, the sitting room
walls were freshly painted. And the long hallway. And Anton’s
bedroom-to-be. His shirt had been off for hours, and Jetta’s eyes
had roved over him far too often for her peace of mind. He’d worked
the long roller up and down the walls with a fluid rhythm that gave
her plenty to appreciate. Her body sighed with pleasure.

Now they stood looking at the collection of
trash in the third bedroom and said in unison “tomorrow.”

He slipped an arm around her waist, pulled
her close, and dropped a kiss onto her brow. “Good work, Ms
Rivers,” he said—and released her.

It was the purely friendly gesture of two
people working in co-operation. She stood there astounded.

“What do you want to do with that bed next
door?” he asked, apparently noticing nothing. “It’s far too good to
throw out. Almost too good to give away.”

“Uh...I could...uh...maybe have it in my
room,” she stammered. “It’s quite a new one really.”

He grabbed me and kissed me. Only a little
peck, but it really was a kiss. And I survived here on my own
without acting like a total screaming fool.

“Okay—let’s swap it over for you.”

Jetta pressed her hands together, half dazed
and drifty, forbidding the wretched trembles to take her over. His
kiss had been such a small thing, yet to her it had been
momentous.

God, I hope I didn’t give myself away. But
how can I let a man into my bedroom—especially this man—when I’ve
seen him ‘like that’?

Again she remembered the distended ridge
she’d seen in Anton’s shorts the previous night. The image had
bothered her all day—scaring her silly, yet making her body turn
moistly female and voluptuous.

Not waiting for permission, Anton pushed the
door to her bedroom open and walked in.

“Sorry if it’s messy,” she said, still
panicked and hovering well back. With a deep breath, she lunged
toward the bed, bundled up the sheets, pillow and duvet, and stood
aside clutching them like a barrier.

Anton let out a bellow of laughter. “I don’t
believe it,” he said. “Sexy little Jetta in a single bed. At your
age? No wonder you told Bren and Hallie about mine.”

“Stop it!” she snapped. “It’s the bed Grandpa
bought me when Mom and Dad died and I came to live here.”

How can he laugh at something that’s both
embarrassing and so personal? And did he say I was sexy?

“You could have moved into the big one as
soon as your Gran went into care,” he said, hauling the single
mattress aside and hefting it out into the hallway, biceps tautly
impressive. “So this girlie fantasy comes apart somehow, does
it?”

Jetta was still torn between his ‘sexy’
comment and her embarrassment at being found in possession of a
white painted four poster canopy-topped single bed with fairy dolls
swinging from the posts. She’d simply never got around to untying
them.

“At the corners, I think,” she muttered.

“I’ll get the tool kit.” And he strode off,
leaving her to recover.

She heaved her armful of bedclothes into the
corner, dragged her bedroom stool across the room, and stood on it
to unhook the frilly pieces of canopy and the pink ribbons
suspending the dolls. Annoyance at his laughter almost took
precedence over her fear of having him in her room. And that ‘sexy
little Jetta’ still tumbled about in her brain in the most
disconcerting way.

A few minutes later, he’d unscrewed the posts
and carried them and the base out of the room.

“Have you found any keys while you’ve been
pulling stuff out to paint behind?” she asked as Gran’s forgotten
suitcase came into view. “Or could you break those locks open?”

Anton inspected the old leather case with its
brass corners and gave the locks a quick jiggle. “Shame to wreck
it; it might fetch a bit on the internet. It looks almost military.
Your bed-frame’s worth selling, too. Some little girl would love
that. We should have photographed it before we took it apart.”

The ‘some little girl’ rankled, but Jetta had
to admit any money towards her New York trip would be welcome. She
was surprised Anton had suggested it though. With such a big
apartment scheme under way, surely bothering to sell a bed and a
suitcase was a waste of his time.

“We could set it up again in the front room
for a photo,” she said. Selling her old bed came a long way behind
getting through Gran’s funeral and coping with Anton’s possible
presence in her house. Getting him out of her bedroom
immediately
had top priority.