When He Was Bad... (7 page)

Meanwhile he needed a cold shower and he needed it fast.

While he shivered and soaped up under the spray, he made a decision. This thing between them needed serious attention. Tonight. Get it out of their systems—two rational, consenting adults—then they could move on.

He turned off the taps, reached for his towel. Satisfied with his plan, he lathered on shaving cream and reached for his razor.

 

He checked his emails over fruit and toast. Coffee in hand, he made a follow-up call to last night's meeting with Cole. Then he phoned the office to inform Joanie he'd be in before ten and took the next little while to look over a new project.

When Ellie still hadn't turned up by nine o'clock he grew annoyed. He paced to the window. The devil of it was, he had no good reason to be so ticked off. Ellie kept her own timetable and Belle hadn't expected him to wait around. But he was here now, and in Belle's absence he felt he was entitled to know Ellie's plans for today. Keep an eye on things. Keep his finger on the pulse.

He swung away.
No, not Ellie's pulse
. Although if she didn't get here soon he might have to throttle her.

He was a busy man. He didn't have time to… He checked his watch. Nearly nine-fifteen. …Didn't have time to
waste
.

At ten o'clock he rang Joanie to tell her he'd been detained, that he'd phone again when he was on his way.

Responsibility. They'd talked about it. Ellie had worked two days and been on time. Perhaps that was her limit. He tapped in her phone number. Swore when her phone was switched off. She had no answering service so he couldn't leave a voice message.

He paced to the window, glared at the front gate. When she arrived he'd tell her his expectations: While he was here, he preferred—wanted—her to keep regular hours… Damn, why wait until she'd arrived? He'd go inform her himself. That way he could drive her here if she was running late.

A short time later he parked and stared up at her sorry-looking apartment building. Daylight showed the dull facade in all its unspectacular glory. Grey peeling paintwork. Dusty windows.

He climbed out of his car and walked to the door. In this instance he was relieved it wasn't a coded entry—except that anyone could walk in off the street. He took the stairs two at a time and followed a dingy passage until he found apartment number four, then knocked on the door.

No answer. Impatience snapped at him; he barely waited before knocking again, louder, longer. ‘Ellie, are you in there?'

A scruffy-looking sort in a grey hooded jacket with straggly blond hair and teenage fuzz above his upper lip exited an apartment down the hall. Mid- to late teens, Matt figured. The odour of sweat and dirty sneakers preceded the guy as he approached.

Matt's nostrils flared in distaste. But Ellie had no choice; she couldn't afford anything better. Matt understood that all too well.

‘She ain't left yet,' Scruffy said as he passed Matt.

He studied the youth through narrowed eyes. ‘And you'd know this how?'

Scruffy popped a wad of chewing gum in his mouth. ‘See everyone from my living room window. You dropped her off last night. Night before too. Black Ford, right?'

A twinge of concern jolted through Matt. ‘Do you watch everyone's comings and goings?'

‘Pretty much,' he said cheerfully. ‘Ain't safe round here. It's just me and Mum, and she's in a wheelchair, so I keep an eye out.'

‘And you are?'

‘Toby.' He stuck his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. ‘You Ellie's new boyfriend?'

‘I'm… Yes,' Matt decided. One could never be too careful and any woman living alone was always a potential target, even if Toby seemed harmless enough. ‘My name's Matt. I'll see you around.'

‘Okay. See ya.' Toby hunched into his hoodie and headed to the stairwell.

Matt resumed knocking. ‘Ellie, I know you're in there. Answer the door.' Finally he heard a muffled sound and the door cracked open. Her face was only partially visible and what he could see didn't look good.

‘What are you doing here?' She sniffed, dug a tissue from the pocket of her dressing gown, held it to her nose.

No wonder she hadn't turned up. ‘You're ill,' he said unnecessarily. ‘You should have phoned me.' He pushed the door wider, took in the dark circles beneath her glassy eyes before closing the door behind him.

‘Why?' She turned away and headed over the worn linoleum floor towards her bed. She wore flannelette pyjamas under her robe, he noticed, and fluffy pink slippers.

‘To let me know you weren't coming in…' His voice was tight and clipped to his own ears. He saw the way her
shoulders drooped and softened it with, ‘To let me know if you need anything.' He glanced about him at the tiny studio apartment. The place was basic at best. And colder than an antarctic winter.

‘On my day off?'

‘Your day off?'

‘I don't work Thursdays. I told you that at our
interview
.' Stepping out of her slippers, she crawled onto the bed, dragging the covers over her. ‘So, if there's nothing else… Pull the door shut behind you on your way out.'

Even with his jacket on, his skin goose-bumped beneath his cashmere jumper. ‘Don't you have heating?'

‘It's broken down,' she mumbled.

‘I can't leave you here like this.'

‘Sure you can. Don't you have appointments to keep? Five-star hotels to frequent?' A hand appeared from beneath the quilt to grab another tissue.

Five-star hotels?
‘What are you talking about?' He crossed the room, stared down at her, shook his questions away. ‘Forget appointments, forget work. You shouldn't be on your own and this place is an icebox. You're coming home with me.'

‘N
O
.' H
ER
reply was razor sharp.

‘I don't want to argue with you, Ellie.'

‘Good.' A beat of silence. ‘I'm better off here. If I can sleep it off today, I'll be right for work tomorrow.'

He lowered himself to the edge of the bed, his shoe skittering against something as he sat. He looked down…

His business card. Crumpled. By one very tight, very deliberate fist, if he guessed correctly. He picked it up, lowered the quilt so he could see her face and waved it in front of her. ‘I must've made a good impression Saturday night.'

Her eyes flicked open, then widened as she realised. ‘Oh.' She blinked up at him. ‘How did that get there?'

He felt a corner of his mouth tip up. ‘You didn't throw it out.' He smoothed it out, tapped it against his chin. ‘This tells me something, Ellie.'

Her eyes slid shut again. ‘It tells you I'm environmentally aware, that I was waiting for the paper recycling day to come round.'

‘Yeah. Right.' He slipped it beneath her pillow with a smile she didn't see.

He glanced about the apartment. Her fridge was covered in kids' paintings held in place by frog magnets. ‘Whose artwork?'

‘I volunteer at a homework centre for disadvantaged kids,' she mumbled into her pillow.

A volunteer? She was more than he'd given her credit for and something deeper stirred inside him. Willing the somewhat disturbing feeling away, his gaze landed on a small but familiar figurine on the scarred night stand.

He looked back at Ellie, her eyelashes resting on pale cheeks, then picked it up, rolled it between his palms. ‘Where did you get this?'

Her eyes opened halfway. ‘Belle gave it to me. She said everyone needs a guardian angel.'

Matt knew it wasn't a simple trinket. It was one of a kind, according to Belle. She'd bought it in Venice a few years back and paid a fortune in tourist dollars for it. Did Ellie know its true value?

He folded the quilt back and tucked the edge beneath her chin. ‘Guardian angels won't cut it today. You can sleep in Belle's guest room.'

‘No.'

He tightened his jaw. ‘I can carry you downstairs in your pyjamas and put you in the car myself or you can get dressed first—your choice. But you're coming with me in five minutes.'

‘I'm staying here. I'm going to try to sleep.
Here
. Thanks for your offer, now go away.'

He pushed up. So be it. He found an empty supermarket bag, then scouted the room for something she could wear later—a black tracksuit sprawled over a chair and a pair of sneakers with socks spilling out nearby. ‘Four minutes.' He opened drawers till he found underwear.

Behind him, he heard her gasp. ‘You are
so not
touching my—'

‘Think again, honey.' He pulled out a filmy white bra and panties, tossed them in the bag. Added a pair of socks.

Ellie's eyes narrowed to slits as she watched Matt's broad-shouldered shape disappear into her tiny bathroom. Her heart thudded erratically against the mattress. She pushed the tissue against her lips to prevent a whimper when she heard the clatter of bottles being scooped up. Squeezing her eyes shut, she willed him to leave. She was an independent woman. Had to be. If she refused to move, made it obvious she didn't want his assistance, didn't
need
it, he'd respect that. He'd—

Her eyes snapped open again when the quilt's warmth vanished. A tide of cold air and defeat washed over her as she gazed up at one determined man. Mouth resolute. Jaw squared, brow furrowed. Her bag of stuff on his arm.

A man accustomed to having his demands met.

Well, she had news for him. ‘Listen, I…' His dark eyes challenged hers and she felt her words drain away with her resolve.

‘Since you're obviously not going to cooperate—' he continued, sliding his hands beneath her armpits ‘—why wait the extra two minutes?'

As he dragged her upright, she saw the glint in his eyes and her heart leapt with a contrary thrill in her chest. ‘You wouldn't…'

The glint remained as he slid her slippers onto her feet. He tightened the sash on her dressing gown, fastened the top button of her pyjamas. ‘Yes, Ellie, I would.' Then scooping her up, he swung her into his arms.

His jumper tickled her nose, his hold was so tight the only air she could breathe was full of his scent. She kicked— uselessly—since her legs hit nothing but air. ‘Put. Me. Down.' Her futile demand was muffled against his chest.

‘Not until we reach the car.' His voice rumbled against her ear. She felt herself being carried across the room. He passed the kitchen table, dumped her handbag on her lap.

‘This is crazy. I'm not ill. I have a cold, that's all.'

He gave her a disbelieving look. ‘Keys?'

She thought about refusing to tell him, but she doubted it would make any difference, and being locked out wasn't a sensible idea either because she was
coming back tonight
if she had to walk it. ‘On the hook by the door.'

Grabbing them on the way, he stepped into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind him. The click echoed in the dimness. He started down the stairs and she had no choice but to hang on and let him do his macho-hero thing.

His car was parked right out front. She flopped down in the seat with a scowl, but couldn't help sighing at the sun's warmth through the windscreen.

Sniffing, she turned her head away so she wouldn't have to look at him when he climbed in and set the car in motion. Lucky for her, she wasn't looking for a man in her life. And even if she was, it was lucky Matt McGregor was far too domineering.

Because it meant she could relegate him to the back of her mind and only deal with him when it was absolutely necessary. Like now, unfortunately.

She watched the streetscape change from concrete and retail to the upscale mansions behind hedges and greenery as they neared Belle's place.

She frowned. So why did her insides still insist on turning themselves about when she thought of him? And how could she help thinking about him when she couldn't seem to avoid him? Like this morning. How many darn times had he felt that manly need to come to her assistance?

She didn't need him or his help.

Her inconvenient sneeze prompted a tissue to appear in front of her face. She took it with a scowl and a muttered, ‘Thanks.' She was
not
going to be that weak, needy, ditzy woman he seemed to think she was.

‘Asking for help isn't a sign of weakness, Ellie.'

She swiped her nose, then stared at him. Did the man read her thoughts now? ‘I
didn't
ask.'

His face was in profile; his eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses. ‘Because you
misplaced
my business card and didn't know how to contact me?'

‘Because I…' She let her head fall back and rolled her eyes up to the car's interior light. ‘I have Belle's home number. If I'd needed to, I could've contacted you.'

‘And if I'd left earlier for the office, as I'd intended?'

‘Why
didn't
you leave earlier—and why are we having this conversation?'

The moment the car came to a halt near the front porch, she swung the door open. Her dressing gown flapped around her ankles in the wind as she walked up the path. How she must look—bed hair and flannel pyjamas and handbag. Yesterday's make-up. Rudolph's red nose and it wasn't even Christmas. She pressed her lips together. She hadn't even cleaned her teeth this morning.

He unlocked the door and ushered her inside. ‘Go on up. Belle always leaves the bed made in case of unexpected visitors,' he told her, handing her the supermarket bag. ‘I'll bring you a cup of lemon tea before I leave.'

She stared at him. Did he not know when to stop? And yet…someone doing something nice for her, looking after her, warmed her insides like Gran's bread-and-butter pudding.

His brow rose. ‘Unless you want me to carry you again?'

She shook her head and walked towards the staircase.

Ten minutes later Matt appeared with the promised tray of lemon tea, one of Belle's delicate dishes arranged with sticks of carrot, cheese, olives and celery and an unopened packet of her favourite chocolate biscuits. He set it on the little doily-covered table beside the bed. ‘Help yourself to anything in the fridge. Get some sleep. I'll be back by teatime.'

‘Thanks. I…appreciate it.'

He reached for her hand and for a furious pulse-beat she thought he was going to bring it to his lips, but he pulled out a pen and wrote a string of numbers on the inside of her wrist.

‘If you need me,' he told her.

And just like that her whole body melted at the subconscious message those words conveyed. She closed her eyes. ‘I'll be all right.'

 

When Ellie woke, her stuffy head had cleared somewhat and her throat was a little better, courtesy of the cold-and-flu medication Matt had included on the tray.

Early-winter gloom had plunged the room into semidarkness, but rather than the dank chill of her apartment, the afternoon sunshine's warmth still lingered in the room, the fragrance of fresh linen filled the air.

And for a moment she was a little girl again, in her own bedroom with the fairyland wallpaper and chintz curtains. A time when she'd been too young to understand the meaning of loss, or to appreciate the value of family.

Snuggling deeper into the lavender-scented sheets, she indulged in those long-forgotten memories of safety and warmth, love. All the more precious because once upon a time this home had belonged to her grandfather's family.

As she shifted position, she caught sight of Matt's mobile number on her wrist. Heat flooded through her when she remembered the feel of his hand brushing her arm as he'd penned the numbers.

And another thought occurred to her. Was it only the history of the house or was Matt also partially responsible for bringing all these feelings to the surface?

She'd seen a different side to him over the past couple of days. He might be hot, but whether she wanted to admit it or not, there was a comfortable warmth there too. A warmth that
had nothing to do with sexuality and everything to do with the kind of man he was. The kind that made you want to cuddle right up and share…what? Your deepest secrets? Hopes and fears?

How could she reconcile that with the sexy Matt who made her want to cuddle up and share a whole lot more than confidences?

Matt was also a take-charge kind of guy. How would that translate in the bedroom? she wondered, her mind straying into forbidden territory. Would he expect to make all the moves? Or did he like to lie back sometimes and let a woman do the work? Her body tingled, grew languid at the new and dangerous direction her thoughts had taken.

Until she remembered that he'd had a date last night. The feeling seeped out of her, leaving a cold empty space in the pit of her stomach. Probably someone like Yasmine from the office. Tall, career-oriented, killer body, long smooth
straight
hair. Unlike her own flyaway frizz that hadn't seen a pair of straighteners in the past forty-eight hours.

She needed to ignore that warm cosy feeling that kept creeping up on her whenever she thought of Matt's caring side. She needed to ignore those hot forbidden fantasies that sprang to life whenever he looked at her.

He wasn't in Melbourne for long, she reminded herself. She only had to survive a few more days, and in the meantime she'd give him no reason to think she was interested in pursuing what they'd started any further.

So it wouldn't be a problem when he left.

And she'd go back to her life the way she preferred it. No-one with promises they didn't keep, no unrealistic expectations, no broken heart.

Alone.

Safe.

 

The house was in darkness when Matt let himself in around 6:00 p.m. He headed straight for the guest room, a strange anticipation twirling through him like streamers at Sydney's Mardi Gras parade.

A glimmer of light slanted across the hallway. Her door remained partially open as he'd left it. The lamp on the night stand, dimmed to its lowest setting, cast subtle shadows over Ellie. He'd intended asking her what she fancied eating but quickly decided she needed sleep more than sustenance.

Her hair formed a curly halo around her face; long lashes rested on porcelain cheeks. The top button of her pyjamas had slipped undone, revealing the gold locket she always wore nestled in her dusky cleavage. Beautiful.

And vulnerable.

He should step back, give her privacy, but his eyes refused to look away. His feet held fast and his hand tightened around the edge of the door.

He wanted to cross the room, brush his hand over her hair and enjoy its texture. To skim her cheek, lay his lips on hers and reacquaint himself with her taste.

He imagined her waking to his touch. Amethyst eyes blinking up at him, turning dark as he slid his palms between flannel and warm skin. Then he'd soothe that innate caution she seemed to have with soft words, softer kisses. His fingers itched and his mouth watered.

He dragged his gaze away from the bed to the darkened window while his thoughts drifted back to yesterday. She wasn't as carefree and irresponsible as she'd initially have had him believe. And perhaps she wasn't the type of woman he could easily walk away from without it playing on his conscience.

He'd need to make it clear that there was no chance of anything serious developing between them. He didn't do long-term. He'd been unable to give Angela the happy-ever-after
marriage and children because long-term commitment didn't work—he'd been witness to that too many times to count. He knew Belle's heart had been broken when the man she'd loved had walked away, even though she'd never discussed the details.

And the innocent kids when two people decided they'd had enough—where the hell did that leave them? Ellie's father. His own mother. He didn't want to hurt Ellie the same way.