Out of Bounds Read online

  He stopped whistling and compressed his lips in a determined line. It had to happen. His apartment project had been years in the making. It would bring the rewards he deserved after all the intense years of study and slog and saving.

  Soon, he’d offer to move his mother to a better part of the city. Upgrade his beloved old car to a model that showed everyone his success. In a few months, no-one would look sideways at the shy skinny math-whizz who hadn’t known who his father was.

  He opened the Porsche’s passenger door and waves of heat flooded over him. It was too good a day to be inside, but the sooner he had the old house cleaned up, the sooner he could move in.

  He lowered the pail of paint onto the floor, and braced it with the bag containing tape, and a new paint tray and roller. Number fifteen was in for a fright.

  But when he strode up the front path, pail of paint in one hand, bag of gear and bottle of champagne in the other, Jetta’s door was closed. He set the bag and bottle down and raised the old brass knocker for a hail of noisy raps.

  Nothing.

  The back garden? He dumped the pail, grabbed the bottle by its neck, and paced along the overgrown strip of lawn on one side of the old house. Long vine tendrils reached out from the fence and would have whipped him across the face if he hadn’t ducked and dodged. The place was out of control. Jetta couldn’t hope to restore it.

  He found no sign of her anywhere, although he’d half hoped to find her stretched out enjoying the sun—wearing somewhat less than the morning’s shorts and T-shirt.

  Lunch on the lawn in the shade of the peach tree he’d spotted from the other yard had seemed an ideal plan. Surely if he redoubled his efforts, he could soften her up and convince her not to rock his boat.

  But he heard only unnerving silence—no music, no running water, no thump of spade on linoleum—nothing except the drowsy buzz of bees in the lavender and the muted drone of a lawnmower on the far side of the park.

  He pounded on the back door with a clenched fist, angry now, and losing patience. Where the hell had she disappeared to?

  Jetta stepped off the bus and hummed along with Jason Mraz as she strolled the two blocks to her old flat. She needed sympathy and advice in equal doses, and her long time flat-mates were just the girls to provide both. Volatile Greek Hallie and no-nonsense Scottish Bren had been dependable anchors for several years. How would they deal with this new storm in the suddenly tossing sea of her life?

  She’d been deliberately mysterious on the phone. Indicating there was a change of plans and a man was enough to have them both panting for more.

  And sure enough, Hallie threw the door open before Jetta drew level with the flat, dark eyebrows arching up with questions. “What?” she squealed. “You can’t just throw hints around like that, Jetta Rivers!”

  Jetta removed her earbuds and grinned. “Interesting news and bad news. Which do you want first?”

  “The interesting,” Hallie begged.

  “Get the bad over with first,” freckled Bren said, arriving beside Hallie in the doorway.

  “It’s not terribly bad—well, not for you two. But it’s pretty shattering for me.”

  “So?” Hallie demanded, as soon as Jetta stepped inside.

  “Coffee?” Bren asked.

  “Please.” She flopped down on the navy-blue sofa, registering that someone was still bothering to arrange the throw and cushions nicely.

  Or had they made a special effort because they knew she was visiting?

  She took a deep breath and steepled her fingers beneath her chin. “Okay, total change of plans I’m afraid. I’m still shaking from it.”

  “Oh God—what?”

  “Shut it, Hallie. Let her get on with it,” Bren called from the adjoining kitchen.

  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,” Ha
llie 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!”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “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 forear
ms 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?

  Her thoughts ricocheted in all directions as Anton continued his savage attack. Abruptly he stopped and straightened, stood the spade against the wall, un-kinked his neck, and rolled his shoulders.

  He breathed harder now, chest rising and falling under a slight sheen of moisture. In ten minutes, he’d achieved more than she’d managed in an hour and a half.