Out of Bounds (4 page)

Jetta bit the inside of her cheek to stifle a
smile. Bren hadn’t changed.

“Well, I started ripping up some old lino
this morning,” she began. “Something to take my mind off Gran’s
funeral on Monday, I suppose. And I had a visitor.” She dug out her
phone, flipped up a photo of Anton, shirtless, and held it out
towards Hallie. “Him.”

Hallie took a few moments to admire Anton’s
long golden back, and narrow waist and hips.

“What’s wrong with his face?”

“Nothing, but this was before I met him. He
was polishing his car next door.” The prickling warmth of a blush
crept up her neck as she remembered sneaking the shot of him over
the fence.

Bren came across from the kitchen and peered
at the screen. “And all the rest of him’s as good?”

“Mmmm. And he’s living at number
seventeen.”

“Lucky you. How handy.”

Jetta wrinkled her nose. “Not really. He’s
moving out.” She waited a couple of beats before adding, “And
moving in with me.”

“
Whaaaaat???”
both girls screamed in
unison.

“How did you meet him?” Hallie asked.

Bren pursed her lips. “Who is he?”

“He’s...exactly what I don’t need right now.
He says he’s called Anton Haviland. Haviland was Mum’s unmarried
name—Gran and Grandpa’s name—and he’s claiming half the house is
his. Half mine, half his. And I can’t find out any more until
Monday because of course the lawyers are closed.”

“God,” Hallie breathed. “Do you think he’s
for real?”

Jetta shrugged. “It’s possible. Gran was
getting pretty vague. She told me over and over the house would be
mine one day, but she never said quite how much of it would be
mine. Maybe it’s only half.”

“He’s a conman. He’s got to be,” Bren
suggested. Suspicion narrowed her grey eyes.

“Utter bastard,” Hallie added. “He can’t just
move in on you like that. You need to get the locks changed soon
as. There’s that twenty-four-hour guy who’s always advertising on
the radio?”

“That won’t help for long. And if I did
change the locks I wouldn’t put it past him to take a wrecking bar
to the doors. He’s perfectly polite but he sounds damned
determined.”

“That’s breaking and entering,” Bren
retorted. “We’ll come and stay the night. Then he’ll have to fight
off three of us instead of only one.”

“What? You’ve got nothing better to do on a
Saturday night than play bodyguard?” The warmth of true friendship
settled around her like a soft, much loved blanket.

“Nick’ll understand—especially if I make it
up to him tomorrow.”

“Tart,” Hallie grinned.

How Jetta envied their easiness with
men...

“But moving in with me isn’t the worst of
it,” she added. “This Anton’s bought the house next door. I thought
the Godfreys had gone to live up the coast and rented their place
out.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “I’ve seen guys there and
heard music when I’ve been visiting Gran, but the Godfreys have
definitely sold it to him. And Anton says he’s going to pull it
down.”

“Don’t tell her any more until I’m back,”
Bren instructed, diving out into the kitchen. She returned quickly
with coffees. “He’s going to pull it down? Why?”

“To build a block of apartments.”

“Is he, like, going to steal all your
sunshine or something?”

“Steal my whole life,” Jetta groaned. “He
says both houses are coming down and eight apartments are being
built, and I can have one.”

“Very big of him...”

Jetta huffed out a sigh, defeated and
confused. “The last thing I want is a brand new apartment. I really
love Gran’s old house. It has such potential to look treasured
again.” She shrugged, and stayed silent for the next few seconds.
“I don’t know where I really stand,” she added. “It’s a huge scare,
and I can’t find out if it’s for real. Not until Monday. Not until
the funeral’s out of the way and the legal firm is open after their
summer break.”

“He’s a conman,” Bren repeated.

“Maybe. Maybe not. He seems very keen to get
me to his lawyer and have everything explained.”

“You need your own lawyer,” Hallie
inserted.

Jetta pulled down the corners of her mouth.
“Haven’t got one. Never needed one. He says the same man has also
been looking after Gran. Now she’s passed, surely he has to get in
touch with me?”

“Och, this is all sounding far too
incestuous,” Bren declared, collapsing down onto the sofa beside
her.

“In more ways than one,” Jetta muttered,
reaching out for her favorite mug and sipping the black coffee with
caution.

“It’s all right,” Bren said, watching with
amusement. “You may have deserted us but I still know to add a wee
bittie cold water to yours.”

Jetta nodded gratefully. She sent them both
an anxious glance. “And that’s the other thing, of course. My plans
to have you two live in the house and look after it for half rent
while I’m in New York? Down the drain at this rate. You didn’t hand
your notice in on this place yet, I hope?”

“Hey, your Granny only died yesterday. Give
us a chance,” Hallie protested.

“This is such stink timing!” Jetta exclaimed.
“I’ll have to contact the Design School and probably rearrange
things yet again. Not to mention grovel to Faye Severino and see if
I can keep my job for a bit longer. Or maybe not. I just don’t know
what’s going to happen.”

“It’ll all work out,” Bren soothed.

“Yes, but my life’s going
backward
.
I’ve been in limbo for months, worried about Gran, not daring to do
the New York course until something was settled about her. I’m glad
I paid ahead so they’ll have to find a place for me, but…”

“It’ll be okay now,” Hallie soothed.

“How? Maybe I don’t have the house to fall
back on any more. Maybe bloody Anton’s wrecked everything. I need
the equity to set up my own studio once I have the New York
qualification.” She glared at her friends, and then added in a
softly desperate tone, “And in the meantime, I have to share my
house with the sexiest man I’ve ever met. And I have to keep my
hands off him!”

“Where the hell have you been?” Anton
demanded as he strode through the front doorway, pail of paint
swinging from one hand, ladder under his other arm, and temper at
boiling point.

He knew the instant Jetta had returned—he’d
heard the gate creak open, and watched as she pushed the kitchen
window wide for fresh air.

“Hello to you, too,” she said.

“So?”

“I’ve been with friends. You know—people you
actually like, who are polite to you and don’t try and steal your
house?”

He tried not to react to that, even though
his gut churned with annoyance. Two wasted hours! He could have got
a lot done in that time.

Obviously his soon-to-be-housemate was still
pretty upset. And downright pretty now she’d cleaned herself up.
The hilarious old hat had covered short glossy hair, black as coal.
Her big eyes were shadowed silver-grey, and her cupid’s bow mouth
pouted rosy pink. He tried not to inspect her lushly feminine body,
showing to great advantage in snug white trousers and a summery
sea-green top.

The dust covered, red eyed waif he’d met
earlier had disappeared. Maybe it was better if she stayed mad at
him, because this new and attractive version would be hell on his
hormones. Especially if her necklines often dipped that low.

“The house is half mine. Get over it,” he
taunted.

“Bastard!”

“True, unfortunately.”

Jetta gasped, maybe realizing what she’d
unwittingly said. “You can finish the kitchen floor if you’re so
keen. I’m going to put this on my bedroom door.” She reached into
her bag and pulled out a big, ugly, galvanized sliding bolt
arrangement. Ideal for a chicken coop or a farm gate.

“Thinking of keeping livestock?” he asked,
tucking his tongue in his cheek.

“Keeping animals like you out.”

“Wasn’t planning on visiting.”

“Good—because you’re not invited.”

“Glad we got that settled. Do you want to
borrow my toolkit?”

She looked daggers at him and dived into the
bag again, rummaging around until she produced a gleaming new
screwdriver and flourished it at him. “I don’t need your help,
thank you.”

“What about a drill?”

Her triumphant expression faded, and he
softened. “At least let me put it on for you. You’ll wreck the
door, and these old paneled ones are worth money when they’re
recycled.”

“You won’t be recycling them. You won’t be
demolishing my house.”

“Make a mess of it then,” he rasped, turning on his
heel and stalking out.

Jetta watched him go, wondering if she’d been
too rude to him. But dammit, he was the one being rude. If he
thought he could just breeze in and ride roughshod over her plans,
he could think again. Had he even asked? Suggested? No—he’d
demanded. And she hadn’t liked it. If he thought flashing her one
of his high-voltage smiles, giving in on paint colors, and making
her a good cup of coffee would change her mind, he was sorely
mistaken.

She caught sight of him through the
window—all long legs, broad shoulders, and blue eyes as he strode
off home in a huff. Great—he was leaving her property. She’d
certainly been stirred up and shivery when he arrived in such a
temper.

As she changed into her shorts and T-shirt
her bare toes hit the old suitcase she’d shoved under the bed
earlier. She expended some of her pent up energy and annoyance in a
short sharp curse, then bent and pushed the case further in out of
her way. It could go in the big bin on Monday—opened or not.

She’d only just returned to the kitchen in
her work clothes and sneakers when Anton marched back with a paint
spattered plastic drop sheet over one arm and a bulging hardware
store bag and a six-pack of beer in the other. Taking no notice of
her, he stashed the beer in Gran’s old fridge as though he owned
the place.

Her spirits dropped even lower. What if he
did? She turned that thought around bitterly as he spread the drop
sheet out and started to collect the larger pieces of linoleum
she’d levered up earlier.

“Got a broom?” he barked.

She sulked to the cleaning cupboard in the
laundry and brought it back for him.

“Your job.” He waved at the smaller
pieces.

She returned to the cupboard and grabbed the
dustpan and brush as well. They worked together in icy silence,
Anton tossing the worst of the old flooring onto the drop sheet and
Jetta carefully sweeping the areas he cleared.

Eventually he gathered up the corners and
hefted the load out to the front lawn. Jetta hoped he didn’t see
the reluctant admiration in her eyes as she checked out his hard,
lean body.

It was the first time she’d ever dared to be
alone with a man for any length of time. She kept sneaking quick
glances at him. And looking away. Finding her eyes had wandered
back. Turning resolutely aside again.

Her fear had dropped to an acceptable level.
The hot/cold panics had returned when he’d galloped back with his
arms full of stuff, but he’d been so brusque and surly that her
nerves had settled surprisingly fast.

So he’d given up his charm offensive. She
thought she was pleased about that.

“Spread this in the dining room,” he ordered,
pushing the empty sheet toward her when he stomped back up the
hall. She grabbed its trailing edge, but before she could obey, he
crossed his arms, grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and dragged it off
over his head.

All the air left her lungs. Her surreptitious
view of his back through the jasmine vine hadn’t prepared her for
the warm living front version of the man who now stood close enough
to touch.

The Sydney sun had toasted his skin golden.
And there was a lot of it—ornamented with two flat brown nipples
and a drift of dark hair. How could she not look?

He set his jaw as though to challenge any
objections to his lack of clothing.

She wasn’t objecting!

Her hands trembled as she meekly spread the
sheet for him. When she turned, he’d grabbed the spade, about to
attack the floor.

His long arms tensed. His biceps bulged. The
tendons in his forearms stood out in sharp relief. As he bent, his
shoulders and chest bulked up, hard and strong. His torso
tightened, his abs contracted, his jeans slid down and settled
lower on his hips.

Jetta’s lips parted on a small gasp, and she
bit her tongue to stop any comment escaping.

The ever-present memory of Uncle Graham’s
nasty belly sprang, uninvited, into her brain. Flabby from too many
takeaways. Pale from too little sun. Hairy and disgusting as he
tried to force her small hands into the front of his trousers.

By contrast Anton was taut and tanned and
smooth. Ridged with muscle. Beautiful. As supple and sleek as an
animal on the prowl. Something big and rangy...golden and
streamlined and fast.

And he became even more beautiful as he
started to spade up the old flooring with smooth economical
sweeps.

Jetta watched his arms and shoulders flexing,
bunching, relaxing—muscle and sinew working in mesmerizing harmony.
Suddenly she saw why Bren wanted Nick; why Hallie flirted with
almost any man who came onto her radar.

Would it ever be the same for her?

In an instant, the hot little ripples of
pleasure flowed back again—twitching and pulsing deep inside, and
reminding her she was definitely female. That a man like this
should be hers. That the distressing events of her childhood were
years in the past. That she was now a woman, and needed to reclaim
her spirit, and courage, and femininity.

Yes, but how am I going to stop freezing up
at the most casual contact? How can I ever relax if a man wants to
touch me where Uncle Graham did? Or do any of the things in that
book?