The Protea Boys by Tea Cooper

more and more frustrated. The work schedule she and Hillary had drawn up had to be around somewhere. She wanted to give it to the boys as soon as they arrived. Arrived—oh, no. She smacked her hand to her forehead. The new guy, she’d forgotten the new guy. His driving license needed checking, and she had to make sure he could handle the truck. Not only that, they had to load the tools if they were going to get to their first job by eight o’clock.
    She shot out of the door, then ran across the paddock, squinting into the morning sun. With a sinking feeling in her stomach, she saw a vehicle parked by the shed. One of them had beaten her to it.
    Damn.
    A silhouette leaning nonchalantly against the side of the black four-wheel drive came into view. Tall and lean, with an Akubra pulled down shadowing his eyes and arms folded across his chest. As she slammed to a halt, he pushed his hat back and winked at her.
    “What are you doing here?” she snapped.
    Shit, not a very polite way to greet someone .
    It was a trick. Hillary had played a huge trick on her.
    She better be good at high jump .
    “Good morning, Georgina.” His laconic drawl made the hairs on her arms prickle, and his gaze ran up and down the length of her body; she stopped herself from rubbing her arms just in time. At least six feet four inches of pure muscle and screaming masculinity. The mere sight of him made her hackles rise. This was not one of her ridiculous dreams. She groped around, trying to find something to say, but he didn’t help, just kept looking her up and down, waiting patiently.
    “I didn’t know it was you,” she finally managed to splutter.
    “You didn’t know what was me?” he said, green eyes sparkling at her. She wanted to slap the ridiculous, audacious grin off his face. He was enjoying every moment of her discomfort.
    “Hillary didn’t say it was you.” She ground the words out between her gritted teeth.
    “Hillary didn’t exactly say it was you either—but I guessed.”
    The whole conversation, if you could call it that, was getting more idiotic by the moment.
    Take control. I have to take control.
    Blood pounded somewhere inside her head. “So you’re here to work, not just making a social call?” She narrowed her eyes, finding it virtually impossible to be civil.
    “I’m under the impression I’m starting work today. Hillary said you were expecting me, and I should turn up at seven o’clock this morning.” He stared pointedly at his watch, accentuating his deliciously muscled forearm and said, “It’s five to, by my reckoning.”
    “I didn’t know it was you.” Georgie’s brain had stuck, like an old, scratched CD; the phrase stuttered in her head, and she couldn’t stop it falling out of her mouth. “I didn’t know it was you. Hillary said your name was Morgan.”
    “It is. Morgan, Tom Morgan.” He enunciated the words slowly as though she had a limited command of English.
    In an attempt to restrain the recurring urge to hit him, Georgie clenched her fists.
    “Remember? I introduced myself after our little adventure with the wombat last week.”
    Remember.
    How could she forget? She involuntarily moved her finger to her lips, unsure for a moment if her memory of his kiss was real or not, but the glimmer in his eye assured her it was, and she pulled her hand from her face and stuffed it into her pocket.
    “Then we spoke on the phone.”
    “Yes. I remember. It’s just I didn’t know it was you Hillary had interviewed.”
    You’re burbling, talking nonsense .
    Hillary had said his name was Morgan, and she hadn’t put two and two together. She dreamed—not dreamed, no, he didn’t need to know about her dreams—of him as Tom.
    Tom of the predatory green eyes with tawny flecks .
    Mr. Leopard Eyes who was watching her with a deal more than a glint of amusement. She sucked in a deep breath and exhaled, enjoying the exasperated puffing sound escaping her lips. Her flesh shivered despite the warmth in