Read Online When He Was Bad... by Anne Oliver - Free Book Online Page A

She would not quit on account of rain. Unlike Sasha, she’d prove herself reliable and responsible and accountable if it killed her.
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    Matt pulled himself mentally and physically out of his work. He glanced at his watch, surprised to find he’d worked through the lunch break he’d set himself. He’d intended talking Ellieinto sharing a coffee. Stretching fingers cramped from working the keyboard, he wrapped them around his neck and glanced at the window. Rain spattered the glass.
    He walked to the kitchen window and saw her. Mud splattered her overalls up to her knees. She was measuring and pouring pellets into her hand, sprinkling them over the earth, then moving on to repeat the procedure. The misty rain speckled the flimsy plastic she’d pulled on but the cap had blown off, leaving dark honey locks damp and curling over her head.
    His gaze narrowed. Yesterday he’d raised the question of her responsibility. After all, it was she who’d labelled herself irresponsible. Was she now trying to prove a point? Responsible was all well and good, but there wasn’t much point to it if the woman came down with pneumonia.
    He stalked to the back door, grabbing an umbrella from the coat stand on the way. Rain spattered his soft leather shoes. It wasn’t heavy but constant, and obviously had been for some time. But the wind was fierce—it snuck under the umbrella, threatening to turn it inside out.
    She was facing away from him and didn’t hear his approach. Or was she choosing not to?
    â€˜Why the hell are you still out here in this weather?’ He reached for her shoulder to swing her around but she squealed and jerked and he lost his footing in the slimy mud her digging had created. The umbrella was forgotten as he fought the inevitable and ignominious slide to the ground, taking her with him.
    At the last second he managed to twist them both so that she landed on top of him in a blur of limbs and bad language. While he was still trying to catch his breath, he stared up at the rain-spattered sky, contemplating this example of life’s little jokes. Cold muddy moisture seeped through the back ofhis jumper, a striking contrast to the warm wet body plastered against his chest.
    When she didn’t move, he raised his head and wheezed, ‘You all right?’
    â€˜Oh, yeah, never better,’ she snapped. Apparently unconcerned that he might be on his last breath, her only movement was to disentangle her legs from his and tug on the strap of her overalls.
    He would have laughed at the situation but what air was left in his lungs exploded out of him as her elbow jabbed him in the solar plexus.
    â€˜Sorry.’ She twisted some more, the sound of plastic crinkling as she continued struggling to free herself. He didn’t try to help. Giving up the attempt for the moment, she glared down at him. ‘ What were you thinking?’
    Rain-spiked lashes blinked at him over those gorgeous lilac-coloured eyes. When he could breathe again, he smelled summer raspberries and her own brand of hot feminine scent. The scent a woman exudes after a healthy bout of exercise. Or sex. He took this unique opportunity to draw it in slowly.
    What had she said? Something about thinking… ‘I wasn’t.’ If he’d been thinking he’d have engineered this scenario somewhere dry—on Belle’s Persian rug in front of a roaring fire, for instance. Minus the wet clothing.
    â€˜I was reacting,’ he continued, ‘to your hare-brained idea of working outdoors in these conditions.’
    â€˜It’s where most gardening’s done.’ She rolled a shoulder, the movement shifting her breasts against his stomach. He wasn’t sure, but he imagined he could feel two stiff nipples jutting just above his navel.
    A spear of heat shot through his body, angling straight to his groin. Doing his damnedest to ignore it, he stared up at the sky again and continued