blonde joke, they’ll be out of here so fast they won’t know what hit them.’
He would believe that. A warrior woman. In charge.
He clambered out of the empty pond. Thought about offering Shelley a hand. Thought again.
He did not trust himself to touch her.
Turned out he wasn’t needed. He’d scarcely completed the thought before agile Shelley effortlessly swung herself out of the pond with all the strength of an athlete. He suspected she wasn’t the type of woman who would ever need to lean on a man. Yet at the same time she aroused his protective instincts.
‘Are we sorted?’ he said brusquely. ‘You deal with the pond. I’ve got work to do.’
He actually didn’t have anything that couldn’t be put off until the evening. But he didn’t want to spend too much time with this woman. Didn’t want to find himself looking forward to her visits here. He’d set an alarm clock this morning so he wouldn’t miss her. That couldn’t happen again.
He pulled out the keys from his pocket. ‘I’ll open the shed for you. Then I’m disappearing inside.’
To stay locked away from that sweet flowery scent and the laughter in her eyes.
* * *
Like much of this property outside the house, the shed was threatening to fall down. Declan found the lock was rusty from disuse and it took a few attempts with the key before he was able to ease the bolt back from the door of the shed.
Unsurprisingly, the shed was a mess. It was lined with benches and shelves and stacked with tools of varying sizes and in various states of repair. Stained old tins and bottles and garden pots that should have been disposed of long ago cluttered the floor. The corners and the edges of the windows were festooned in spider webs and he swore he heard things scuttling into corners as he and Shelley took tentative steps inside.
Typically, she saw beyond the mess. ‘Oh, my gosh, it’s a real old-fashioned gardener’s shed with potting benches and everything,’ she exclaimed. ‘Who has room for one of these in a suburban garden these days? I love it!’
She took off her hat and squashed it into the pocket of her khaki trousers. That mass of honey-blond hair was twined into plaits and bunched up onto her head; stray wisps feathered down the back of her long, graceful neck. The morning sunlight shafting through the dusty windows made it shine like gold in the dark recesses of the shed.
An errant strand came loose from its constraints and fell across her forehead. Declan jammed both hands firmly in the pockets of his jeans lest he gave into the urge to gently push it back into place.
He ached to see how her hair would look falling to her waist. Would it be considered sexual harassment of an employee if he asked her to let it down so he could sketch its glorious mass? He decided it would. And he did not want to scare her off. She stepped further into the shed, intent on exploration.
‘Watch out for spiders,’ he warned.
In his experience, most women squealed at even the thought of a spider. Sydney was home to both the deadly funnel web and the vicious redback—he would not be surprised if they had taken up abode in the shed.
Shelley turned to face him. ‘I’m not bothered by spiders,’ she said.
‘Why does that not surprise me?’ he muttered.
‘I’d never be a gardener if I got freaked out by an itty-bitty spider,’ she said in that calm way she had of explaining things.
‘What about a great big spider?’ There was something about her that made him unable to resist the impulse to tease her. But she didn’t take it as teasing.
‘I’m still a heck of a lot bigger than the biggest spider,’ she said very seriously.
Was it bravado or genuine lack of fear?
‘Point taken,’ he said. He looked at her big boots that could no doubt put an aggressive spider well and truly in its place.
‘Snakes, now...’ she said, her eyes widening, pupils huge in the gloom of the shed. ‘They’re a different matter. I grew up on a
He would believe that. A warrior woman. In charge.
He clambered out of the empty pond. Thought about offering Shelley a hand. Thought again.
He did not trust himself to touch her.
Turned out he wasn’t needed. He’d scarcely completed the thought before agile Shelley effortlessly swung herself out of the pond with all the strength of an athlete. He suspected she wasn’t the type of woman who would ever need to lean on a man. Yet at the same time she aroused his protective instincts.
‘Are we sorted?’ he said brusquely. ‘You deal with the pond. I’ve got work to do.’
He actually didn’t have anything that couldn’t be put off until the evening. But he didn’t want to spend too much time with this woman. Didn’t want to find himself looking forward to her visits here. He’d set an alarm clock this morning so he wouldn’t miss her. That couldn’t happen again.
He pulled out the keys from his pocket. ‘I’ll open the shed for you. Then I’m disappearing inside.’
To stay locked away from that sweet flowery scent and the laughter in her eyes.
* * *
Like much of this property outside the house, the shed was threatening to fall down. Declan found the lock was rusty from disuse and it took a few attempts with the key before he was able to ease the bolt back from the door of the shed.
Unsurprisingly, the shed was a mess. It was lined with benches and shelves and stacked with tools of varying sizes and in various states of repair. Stained old tins and bottles and garden pots that should have been disposed of long ago cluttered the floor. The corners and the edges of the windows were festooned in spider webs and he swore he heard things scuttling into corners as he and Shelley took tentative steps inside.
Typically, she saw beyond the mess. ‘Oh, my gosh, it’s a real old-fashioned gardener’s shed with potting benches and everything,’ she exclaimed. ‘Who has room for one of these in a suburban garden these days? I love it!’
She took off her hat and squashed it into the pocket of her khaki trousers. That mass of honey-blond hair was twined into plaits and bunched up onto her head; stray wisps feathered down the back of her long, graceful neck. The morning sunlight shafting through the dusty windows made it shine like gold in the dark recesses of the shed.
An errant strand came loose from its constraints and fell across her forehead. Declan jammed both hands firmly in the pockets of his jeans lest he gave into the urge to gently push it back into place.
He ached to see how her hair would look falling to her waist. Would it be considered sexual harassment of an employee if he asked her to let it down so he could sketch its glorious mass? He decided it would. And he did not want to scare her off. She stepped further into the shed, intent on exploration.
‘Watch out for spiders,’ he warned.
In his experience, most women squealed at even the thought of a spider. Sydney was home to both the deadly funnel web and the vicious redback—he would not be surprised if they had taken up abode in the shed.
Shelley turned to face him. ‘I’m not bothered by spiders,’ she said.
‘Why does that not surprise me?’ he muttered.
‘I’d never be a gardener if I got freaked out by an itty-bitty spider,’ she said in that calm way she had of explaining things.
‘What about a great big spider?’ There was something about her that made him unable to resist the impulse to tease her. But she didn’t take it as teasing.
‘I’m still a heck of a lot bigger than the biggest spider,’ she said very seriously.
Was it bravado or genuine lack of fear?
‘Point taken,’ he said. He looked at her big boots that could no doubt put an aggressive spider well and truly in its place.
‘Snakes, now...’ she said, her eyes widening, pupils huge in the gloom of the shed. ‘They’re a different matter. I grew up on a
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