When He Was Bad... (2 page)

He barely laid his lips on hers, just enough to feel the warmth there, the texture. It was like tasting summer's first ripe peach. Sweet, soft. Sensuous. Eliciting a low throaty murmur from her that sang like honey through his bloodstream.

More. It was more than he'd anticipated and it threw him for a loop. He lifted his head to gaze down at her, saw that she was as surprised as he. He hadn't expected to feel his heart beating oddly out of time, as if he stood on the top of the Sydney Harbour Bridge in the middle of a storm without a safety harness.

Willing to believe it had been a fluke, again he lowered his lips, felt her hesitance dissipate like autumn mist in sunshine as she shifted nearer. Her mouth, tentative and unsure, softened and opened beneath his. He took swift advantage, lifting his hands to cradle her jaw for more intimate access and angling his body so that they aligned in the all right places.

He felt her tiny frame quiver against him as he swept his tongue inside her mouth to tangle with hers where the flavours were richer, darker, hotter. Ah,
now
she didn't resist. In any way. She was right there with him—he knew by the way her tongue curled with his, the way her body turned fluid and malleable against him. He stepped closer, her legs tangling against his.

Either she didn't notice or she didn't care. Her hands slid up the front of his shirt. He could feel his heart pounding into her flattened palms. Then she slid them down again and wrapped them around his waist, and leaned in so her breasts pushed against his chest.

He let his hands wander too, over the smooth creamy column of her neck, the delicate heart pendant she wore, inside her jacket until they found the neckline of her dress. Down, palms skimming the outside of her breasts, the womanly shape where
her waistline dipped, then flared again as he traced her hips. She was perfection. He wanted more. And with the way she was melting against him, it would appear he was in luck.

 

Ellie's knees were so loose it was a minor miracle she didn't collapse right there on the pavers. Her pulse thundered, her blood sizzled. Her only thought was she couldn't believe that she was letting this man—this
god
like man who smelled sinfully good and probably did this every night of the week with a different woman—kiss her to kingdom come.

Then her eyes closed, her mind shut down and all she felt was sensation. His hands warm and firm on her body, his unfamiliar hot, potent flavour, the sound of fabric shifting against fabric as he drew her closer.

And she was clutching his shirt without even realising she'd reached for him. Her body was burning without any recollection of who'd lit the fire.

His hands began a more intimate journey, seeking out her hardening nipples, drawing them into stiff peaks against the bodice of her dress. Rolling them between finger and thumb. She gasped as wetness accumulated between her thighs and, like a wanton, thrust her breasts forward, willing,
willing
him to keep doing what he was doing.

He did. Oh, yes, he did. But the ache only intensified, his clever hands sending ripples of desire straight to all her secret places. Her belly rubbed against a powerful ridge of masculinity. A moan rose up her throat at the sensation of the contrasting hardness against her softness.

A ragged answering groan seemed to come from the depths of his being. ‘How far to your place?' he murmured thickly against her neck.

His voice and the message conveyed broke the lust trance she'd been momentarily lost in and her eyes snapped open. The harsh streetlight over the wall haloed his head, leaving his
features obscured. All she was aware of was a dark silhouette looming over her and the unfamiliar scent of a man she really didn't know at all.

Oh. My. God
. Panic clawed up her throat and she pulled free. ‘I…I need to go to the ladies'.' Clutching her jacket about her shoulders, she took a couple of steps away, and from the safety of distance she pulled her thrumming lips into some semblance of a smile and said, ‘I'll be back in a moment.'

She plunged back into the overheated room, saw Sasha amongst the dancers and caught her eye. Sasha winked over some guy's shoulder and twirled her index finger in the air—their prearranged ‘goodnight' signal should they decide to leave separately.

Ellie nodded, manoeuvred her way through the dancers, past security at the entrance and out onto the street, still busy with traffic despite the late hour.

A car filled with loudmouthed teenagers cruised past, their car stereo's bass competing in an out-of-sync rhythm with the club's. Cold air stung her face and bare arms as she clung to her jacket, desperately willing a taxi to appear.

‘Wait, Ellie.' She jumped at the sound of his voice behind her, but she didn't turn around.

No, no, no
. If she looked, she might reconsider and she couldn't risk that. A fleeting kiss was fine, a little flirting…probably. But a kiss like
that
, with a man like
him
… A man who could sweep away her common sense without raising a sweat…

A frantic wave brought a taxi screeching to a halt in front of her. She dived inside, slammed the door and ordered the cabbie to
drive
.

But before he could pull into the stream of traffic, the door swung open again. Her breath caught and her fingers tightened on top of her bag. Matt whoever-he-was filled the space with his unique brand of woodsy midnight cologne, his smile, his
charisma. ‘You dropped your jacket,' he said, and laid it on the seat beside her. He didn't attempt to climb in.

‘Ah… Thank you.' She hadn't even realised it had slipped off her shoulders and felt like a fool. He hadn't done anything she hadn't wanted him to and she'd taken the coward's way out and ditched him without one word of explanation. Worse, she could see the blonde who'd eyed him up earlier watching the proceedings from the club's entrance.

‘You sure you don't want to change your mind?'

No
. She dragged her eyes back to his. ‘Yes.'

‘“Yes,” you're sure, or “yes,” you want to change your mind?'

She shook her head. ‘You know what I mean.'

His smile faded. ‘Maybe, but I'm not sure you do.' He withdrew a wallet from his hip pocket, flipped it open and pulled out a black-and-gold business card. ‘When you do… change your mind…'

When I do?
That's why she stayed away from men like him. They messed with your head; they were dangerous…and addictive. And when they were finished with you, what did you have? Emptiness, pain and regrets.

When she didn't take the card, he reached inside and grasped her hand with his large warm fingers, turned it palm up. He pressed a kiss to the centre, then replaced his lips with the card, folded her fingers over the top. ‘Until I see you again.' Spoken with all the arrogance and confidence in the whole damn universe.

Her palm burned and she curled her fingers into a fist.
Protecting the imprint of his mouth or screwing up his card?
‘I don't think so.'

But he just grinned, as cocky as ever. He peeled off a one-hundred-dollar note from his wad. ‘Cab fare home. Pleasant dreams, Ellie.'

 

Ellie unlocked the door to her one-room studio apartment, stepped into calming darkness and solitude, grateful none of the other tenants she shared the building with were around to witness her dishevelled state.

Leaning back against the door, she let out a sigh. She could hear her own breathing, still ragged, her pulse, still rapid. What had she been thinking? Letting him kiss her and then…
oh
…and then letting him come on to her that way? And what was she supposed to do with all that change from the cab fare?

Closing her eyes didn't help. It didn't block the images or shut out the memory of how she'd responded to him. ‘Idiot!' she snarled. ‘I am an idiot.' She recited the words slowly through clenched teeth. Her fingers closed tightly over the business card she still held. She hadn't been able to make herself drop it in the gutter like she should have.

Crossing the room, she tossed the crumpled cardboard on her night stand
without
looking at it, flicked on her bedside lamp and flung herself onto her narrow bed, pulling her comforting pink rug over her body. Then, just to be sure, she sent Sasha a text telling her she'd gone home. Alone—in case Sasha got smart and sent her a fun text about ‘getting lucky'.
Lucky?
She stared at the ceiling as if she could read answers in the ancient water stains.

She didn't want to get lucky. She didn't want to get involved. With anyone. Not that Matt had come even close to suggesting any such thing. It had been obvious where his intentions had been focused. But a late supper, maybe a few dates and who knew where that would have led? On her part, at least.
You know exactly where,
the little voice in her head whispered.

She didn't know how, but Matt was unlike any man she'd ever met, and that made him dangerous. Didn't mean she didn't know his type. He'd probably already forgotten her.

She'd always been one to get easily attached to people. And
when they left, for whatever reason, they took another piece of her with them.

Like when her part-time father walked out on her and Mum for the final time. She'd been three. Then three years later there'd been the car accident which had taken her mum and both grandparents. Her father had come back into her life to take care of her, but he was and always had been a wanderer. It had been a glorious adventure, travelling with him around the country chasing work, but she'd been a hindrance, and at the age of nine he'd left again, tearing out her young heart, and she'd found herself in foster care.

As she'd grown up she'd had boyfriends, and two and a half years ago her first and only serious relationship…. She shook her head against the pillow. No, she wasn't going to think about Heath. But the memories slinked back anyway, like wolves waiting to pounce.

They'd been inseparable for six months. Ellie had thought Heath was serious, but no… Instead, it seemed the gorgeous Brit she'd fallen for had an expiring work visa and the not-so-little complication of a fiancée waiting for him back in London. He'd told her it had been great while it lasted but she'd been a fling, didn't she understand that?

Her hands clenched around the sheets. Matt whoever-he-was hadn't only ignited a fire in her belly; one look into his eyes, one brush of his lips over hers and she'd forgotten everything she'd taught herself about self-preservation.

No
. Those days were
over
. She'd never allow herself to get close to a man again. To fall in love. And most definitely, absolutely, she'd never risk marriage and kids. Matt was wrong about that. So wrong. ‘No, Matt whoever-the-hell-you-are,' she said to the ceiling. ‘I will not change my mind.'

O
N
T
UESDAY
morning, after he'd seen Belle safely off at the airport, Matt headed upstairs. Belle's century-old six-bedroom Melbournian mansion was maintained in spotless condition, but she'd left his old bedroom alone and a good clean-out was well overdue. He planned to slot it in between appointments he'd arranged at the city office over the next few days.

He'd get started while waiting for this mysterious employee—Eloise someone—to put in an appearance tomorrow.

Eloise. The name reminded him of Ellie, which brought back memories of Saturday night. He'd thought he had it made. Until she'd pulled her disappearing act. He'd spent the rest of the night in acute discomfort and his body still hadn't quite recovered. A week or so of mutual enjoyment would have filled the evenings here very nicely. He dismissed the fact that he could have enjoyed a few hours with Belinda the busty blonde and frowned as he reached the top of the stairs. It had been Ellie he'd wanted.

He knew the interest had been reciprocated. The eternal question would always be why she'd changed her mind. Obviously she had some hang-up that she hadn't deemed fit to enlighten him about.

Still, for a few moments there in the shadows, gazing
into those captivating amethyst eyes, he'd been completely charmed.

He shook the memory away. Right now he had a more immediate concern. Until Belle had phoned last week, he'd never heard her mention anyone by the name of Eloise. And seeing that look in Belle's eyes today when he'd waved her off on this impulsive trip—visiting Miriam, some woman she'd not seen in fifty-odd years in North Queensland—was a real concern.

‘Miriam's the sister of a man I once knew,' she'd told him when she'd rung to see if he could house-sit while she was away—something else she'd never done.

‘After all these years, why now, Belle?' he'd asked.

‘Because something's happened and I need to make a decision and she's the only one who can help me make it. I'm sorry, Matthew, I can't tell you more. Not yet.

‘There's something else,' she'd continued. ‘A new employee you haven't met will be working there while I'm away. Her name's Eloise and I want you to look out for her.'

He'd agreed. Of course he'd agreed.

Then this morning… ‘Don't forget, I need you to be nice to Eloise,' she'd reminded him as he'd escorted her to the departure gate.

‘I'm always nice.'

For once, Belle didn't smile. ‘Matthew, this is not a frivolous matter.'

Belle was the closest person to a mother that he had, and he'd known her for more than twenty-five years, but he'd never seen this particular expression in her eyes before. Fear? Desperation? Hope?

He frowned. ‘If you're worried about leaving her unsupervised, why can't you just tell her to come back when you return?'

‘She needs the work. Moreover, I'm afraid she might leave.'

‘If she needs the work, she won't leave.'

‘I don't want to take that chance. She—' Biting off her words, she smoothed a finger over his furrowed brow. ‘And don't scare her off with that stern all-business facade.'

‘I am in business, remember?' Which always made him wary of others' motivations. ‘What's so special about this particular employee?'

Her short caramel-coloured hair was permanently tamed to within an inch of its life but Belle ran a restless hand through it. ‘It's complicated. That's why I need to take this trip. To talk to Miriam, to consider and then to make a decision. And I need you here to keep an eye on…everything.' She wrapped her fingers around his forearm. ‘Promise me, Matthew.'

‘Of course, Belle, you know I will.'

She presented her boarding pass to the attendant. ‘I know you have questions and I appreciate you not pushing me for answers.' She reached up, kissed his cheek. ‘Thank you for coming. I think you'll like Eloise—you might even become friends. She'll be there tomorrow. You might take her out,' she suggested. ‘Get to know her better…'

He felt his eyebrows lift.
Friends? Take her out and get to know her better?
Was that
hope
in Belle's voice? She'd never been a matchmaker, so there was something else she wasn't telling him. He returned the kiss absently. ‘Why the urgency, Belle? Come back with me, let's meet this Eloise person together and we can discuss whatever it is that's worrying you.'

But she shook her head again and moved into the stream of passengers heading for the air bridge. ‘A few days, Matthew. I'll explain everything when I come back….'

She'd told him that
she'd
phone
him
when she was ready. At least he'd made her promise to text him that she'd arrived
safely. Still pondering his concerns and whether he should intervene in some way, he pushed open the door to the familiar bedroom.

Cartons he'd never got around to sorting were crammed against one wall. Age had faded the once-bright carpet square. Grime from storms past dulled the mullioned windows.

But nothing could dull the memories of waking up in this room to sunlight streaming through the glass and spilling rainbows across his
Star Wars
quilt. To the aroma of hot toast and bacon. Belle had always insisted on a good breakfast.

Unlike his biological mother, who'd not even bothered to stick around, nicking off in the middle of the night and leaving no more than a note saying she was sorry.
Sorry?

Zena Johnson, single mum—and pole-dancer on her evenings off, it had turned out—had been Belle's housekeeper until she'd skipped town, leaving her only son with her employer. The best decision Zena had ever made, for all concerned, Matt reminded himself, without a lick of regret for the woman who'd given him life.

Belle had taken that scared, lonely, introverted kid, who'd never formed attachments since they'd never been in one place long enough, and treated him as her own. Loved him as her own. To Matt, Belle was family, and fourteen years ago at the age of eighteen he'd taken her surname to prove it.

He hefted the first carton, overloaded with his old school books. Time for the recycling bin. But the box was flimsy and slid out of his grip, spilling the contents over his feet. Dust billowed over his sneakers and jeans, then rose to clog his nostrils. He swiped a dust-coated forearm over his brow. Okay, the job might take longer than he'd anticipated—

A flash of movement somewhere beyond the window caught his eye. He saw a female figure walking up the leaf-littered path. Frowning, he moved nearer, rubbing a circle on the glass with the hem of his T-shirt for a better look. Not
walking, he noted now—more like bouncing, as if she had springs attached to the soles of her worn sneakers. Or a song running through her head.

Young—late teens, early twenties? Hard to tell. He couldn't see her face, shadowed by a battered black baseball cap, nor her hair, which she'd tucked out of sight. She wore a baby-pink T-shirt under baggy khaki overalls with stains at the knees. What looked like an old army surplus backpack covered with multicoloured daisy graffiti swung from one slender shoulder.

She slowed and, with her face in shadow, uncapped the bottled water in her free hand and stood a moment, staring at the old unicorn statue in the middle of the lawn. Something about her tugged at the edges of his mind.

He tracked her progress along the carefully tended topiary and gnome garden statues. How had she slipped past the gate's security code? She wasn't the first trespasser on Belle's property—the reason he'd had the damn thing installed for her in the first place.

Only one way… She'd climbed the fence.

Every hair on his body bristled. Young, agile, probably doe-eyed and short on cash—she was just the sort to take advantage of a trusting woman living alone.

Not this time, honey
.

He crossed the room, descended the stairs, half expecting the front doorbell to ring. He yanked open the door but saw no sign of her.

Where the hell had she gone?

He hotfooted it through the kitchen, his sneakers squeaking over the tiles, and shoved through the back door. Scouring the grounds, he spotted her slipping inside the old garden shed, partially obscured by ivy at the far end of the estate.

Heading grimly across lawn damp from last night's rain, he barely noticed the stiff autumn breeze whistle through his
threadbare T-shirt. But he noticed the scent she'd left on the air. Subtle and clean and…somehow familiar…

Barely visible in the shed's gloom and with her back to him, she was inspecting gardening tools, discarding some, dumping others in the wheelbarrow beside her, all the while humming some unfamiliar tune slightly off-key.

He stopped at the open doorway, leaned an arm on the doorjamb. What was her game plan? he wondered, watching her add a pair of gardening gloves to her stash.

She couldn't be more than five foot two and what he could see of her was finely boned. She didn't look dangerous or devious, but he knew all too well that looks were deceiving. A gold-digger in overalls? Something niggled at him and he waited impatiently for her to turn around….

 

Ellie knew she wasn't alone when the light spilling through the doorway dulled. A tingle swept across the back of her neck, cementing her to the spot. The tune she'd been humming stuck in her throat. The fact that whoever it was hadn't spoken told her it wasn't Belle.

And he was blocking her only escape route. Her mouth dried, her heart rate doubled. Trebled. The stranger was male. She could feel the power and authority radiating off him in waves. And something else. Disapproval. Red-hot disapproval, if the heat it generated down her spine was any indication. Was he a cop? She tried to recall if she'd jaywalked on her way here but her brain wasn't computing anything as simple as short-term memory.

A cop wouldn't sneak up on her
.

She could smell sweat and dust…. Barely moving, she closed the fingers of her right hand around the handle of the gardening fork which, by a stroke of luck, already lay in the wheelbarrow beside her hip.

Heart jumping, she grabbed the fork with both hands and
swivelled to face him at the same time. ‘That's close enough.' Her voice grazed the roof of her mouth like the dry leaves at her feet. To compensate, she jutted her chin, aimed the fork in the direction of his belly and hoped he hadn't noticed the tremor in her hands.

In the windowless shed all she could see was his silhouette. Tall, dark. Broad-shouldered. One bulging arm holding up the doorframe. Why hadn't she flicked on the light as she came in? She aimed the fork lower, straight at his crotch. ‘I'm not afraid to use this.'

‘I don't imagine you are.'

There was something familiar about that deep, dark voice which made her stupid heart jump some more, but in an entirely different way. More of a skip.

She jabbed the fork in his direction. ‘You're trespassing. Miss McGregor'll be coming out at any moment.' At least, Ellie hoped she would…or maybe not, since Ellie would be forced to defend the woman as well as herself. ‘She's probably already ringing the police.'

‘I don't think so.' His voice, frost-coated steel, sent a chill down Ellie's spine.

‘Back off. Now.' Heart thumping hard again, she lunged forward, rotating the fork's tines to a vertical position so that they lay a dangerous whisker away from his jeans. From this position he towered over her and it belatedly occurred to Ellie that all he had to do was open his hand and her weapon would be his.

But he didn't attempt to confiscate it, nor did he step back. As if he knew she couldn't carry through with her threat, and there was nothing overtly menacing or desperate in his demeanour when he said, ‘How did you get in and what are you doing here?'

‘I used the code Miss McGregor gave me. Did you think I scaled that seven-foot fence?' She shook her head, realising
that was probably what he thought. ‘I'm the gardener—who are you?'

‘You're Belle's gardener?'

She drew herself up at the barely veiled sarcasm. ‘That's what I said.'

‘What happened to Bob Sheldon?'

‘He still comes in to do the heavy stuff.'

This man knew Belle's name and was obviously familiar with her staff. Still… Ellie's fingers relaxed some on the fork. Her arms ached with holding the thing but she didn't lower it. Not yet. ‘You haven't told me who
you
are.'

Then he stepped back, into the sunlight, and said, ‘Matt McGregor.'

Brown eyes met hers.
Familiar
brown eyes. Eyes she'd dreamed about for the past couple of nights.

Her entire body went into lockdown.
Oh, no. Not him. Please, please, please. Her Saturday night almost-lover couldn't be Belle's nephew
.
Couldn't be.
‘What are
you
doing here?' Her words came out on a wheeze.

A tiny twitch in his right cheek was the only sign that he recognised her. Her fingers slid off the fork as he took it from her boneless grasp and let it drop to the ground beside him. ‘I might ask you the same question,
Ellie
. Or should I call you Eloise?'

‘I already told you, I work here. And only Belle calls me Eloise and gets away with it.' Forcing herself to meet his gaze, she squinted up at him from beneath the bill of her cap. Same eyes—without the heat. Same beautiful mouth. The same mouth that had kissed her crazy. A tremor rippled down her body, her nipples puckered in loving memory.

That mouth wasn't smiling now.

‘I'm here to keep an eye on things in Belle's absence.'

By sheer force of will, she drew herself up and attempted
casual. ‘Belle's gone already? I thought she was leaving tomorrow.'

‘She left at six this morning. As you'd have discovered if you'd knocked at the house first.'