Bedded for His Pleasure: Bedded by a Bad Boy / In the Gardener's Bed / The Return of the Rebel. Heidi Rice

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СКАЧАТЬ it was nothing more than a diversionary tactic. A defence. The lazy grin his way of distancing himself.

      ‘Don’t get the wrong idea, Red.’ His tone was low and intimate, making the familiar shiver run up her spine. ‘I won’t mind a bit if you want to get up close and personal with me. In fact, I’m counting on it.’

      He was teasing her again, but it didn’t make her bristle as it once had, because she could see the usual twinkle hadn’t reached his eyes. Enjoying her newfound power, Jessie raised a coquettish eyebrow and looked him straight in the eye.

      ‘That’s quite a challenge, Monroe. I’d be careful if I were you. I might take you up on it.’

      She could see she’d surprised him when his eyes widened, but the surge of heat that followed made her breath catch. He was looking at her now as if he wanted to devour her. Suddenly the giddy fluttering in her belly, the heat in her cheeks from an hour before were back with a vengeance.

      He might be cute, but she’d be a fool to think he wasn’t still dangerous.

      ‘Jess, you want to grab the rest of the plates while I put Emmy to bed?’ Linc’s voice came to Jessie through the blood pounding in her ears. She forced her eyes away from Monroe to see her brother-in-law walking round the pool towards them both. She let out an audible breath.

      Saved, she thought, and in the nick of time.

      Jessie sat at the vanity table in her room and slathered moisturiser on her face. As had become a habit over the last week, her gaze strayed out her bedroom window, across the dark expanse of the gardens to Monroe’s garage apartment. As always, his windows were a beacon of light in the night. She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. Nearly midnight again. Did the man never sleep?

      She closed the curtains, shrugged into the simple satin shift she wore to sleep in and turned the switch by the door. The air conditioner subsided to a quiet hum. She walked across the room and sank into the huge double bed. As she pulled the thin sheet over herself she couldn’t stop thinking about the apartment across the way and the man inside it.

      He still made her nervous. After all, no matter what she did, she just couldn’t forget that kiss. But despite that, tonight, and maybe even before that, her opinion of him had changed. She knew now there was a lot more to him than his staggering good looks and his industrial-strength sex appeal.

      Over the past week and a half Jessie had let go of her suspicion that he had arrived on Linc’s doorstep to sponge off his rich brother.

      Monroe had spent every morning since he’d been there either tuning up the cars or working on the garden. He’d fixed the lawnmower and, after ten days of his tender loving care, the grass was at last green again and the flowerbeds were starting to perk up, too. And all this, even though Linc had told him again at supper that he was a guest and should act like one. Monroe had simply shrugged and said that he liked helping out.

      He disappeared every afternoon, and apart from tonight had refused all of Ali’s invitations to come to supper. Jessie wondered what he was doing right now. Maybe he was in bed, too. The thought sent a shaft of heat straight to her core.

      Get a hold of yourself. She was acting like a woman with a serious problem. But Ali was right, he was a hunk, and right at the moment he seemed to be focused on her. She began to think about the other things she knew about him, and then shot upright in bed.

      He wasn’t in bed, now. He was painting. Of course, that was what he had to be doing.

      If she hadn’t been distracted by that kiss and her newfound feelings for him she would have remembered their conversation in the diner sooner.

      Throwing off the covers, Jessie paced to the room’s en suite bathroom and ran herself a glass of water. What did he paint? Whether or not he had any talent, he was certainly dedicated. He was at it every afternoon and most of the night.

      Draining the glass, Jessie rinsed it out and walked back across the deep pile carpet to the bedroom window. She peeked out of the curtains. She felt silly, like an over-eager schoolgirl, fantasising about her first major crush and spying on him in the middle of the night. But she couldn’t help it. This intriguing new turn of events only made him all the more irresistible.

      His lights were still on.

      She was dying to see what he was doing. After all, art was her passion, too.

      When she’d left college, she’d kidded herself for a whole year that she was destined to take the art world by storm.

      After a series of rejections, though, from a string of different galleries, she’d had to admit that, although she was passionate about art, her talent—like her portfolio—had been woefully inadequate.

      It wasn’t that she was dreadful; she just wasn’t ever going to be great. Being able to see her own inadequacies had been her curse, she’d thought this spring, when she’d finally given up her job as a layout designer in a tiny print shop in Soho.

      She’d been miserable doing the mundane, boring designs for pamphlets. Not only did it waste what little design talent she had, it was also a million miles from the beauty and elegance that she’d once hoped to embrace.

      When Ali and Linc had asked her to come out to America for the summer and help out with Emmy while Ali awaited the birth of her second child, she’d jumped at the chance. It would be a chance to forget about her miserable failure with Toby as well as her pathetic attempt to start a career as a designer. Linc had also arranged a working visa, so she could ‘keep her options open,’ as he put it.

      Being with Ali’s family had lifted her spirits and now that she had her new job at the little gallery in Cranford, she finally felt as if she weren’t spinning her wheels any more. She was starting afresh at last. Time to get a new master plan. Maybe this was where her talent lay—in the appreciation of art.

      Jessie let the curtain fall back down. But how the heck was she going to make a life’s work out of it if she had an artist living in the same house as her—or as good as—and it had taken her over a week to figure it out? Okay, so she had been slightly distracted by other things where Monroe was concerned, but really. It was totally pathetic.

      Whipping the sheet back and climbing into bed, Jessie was struck by the sight of Monroe that evening when he had said goodbye to her. That cocky grin back in place.

      Well, okay, so Monroe had a pretty devastating effect on her, but she ought to be able to ask the guy to let her have a look at his work. Fluffing up her pillow, she plopped her head down on it. She would march over to his apartment tomorrow when she got back from work and demand to see what he was painting. How hard could it be?

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      ‘MONROE, we need to talk.’ Linc’s face was set, his voice firm.

      ‘Yeah, what about?’ Monroe raised an eyebrow. He didn’t like it. They were standing in the kitchen of the main house. It was Saturday morning and, after the unsettling feelings stirred at last night’s barbecue, the last thing he needed now was a brother-to-brother chat.

      ‘Here.’ Reaching into the fridge, Linc took out two frosty Pepsis and handed one across the breakfast bar. ‘Take this and sit down.’

      Monroe hooked a leg over the stool and opened his soda. He took a long drag, he’d been repairing the deer fencing СКАЧАТЬ