There's Something About a Rebel.... Anne Oliver

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      ‘Got someone special waiting for you to ring, huh?’

      His head jerked up. ‘You always did get straight to the point, didn’t you? I need to make a few calls.’ A plumber and an electrician for starters. But it could wait till morning. ‘Your tools are worse than useless. I’ve secured the tarp over the main leak for now. Are you even aware of the state of the roofing?’

      She looked away. ‘I was going to get around to it.’

      Yeah? When? ‘I’ll organise something for tomorrow.’ He turned and walked to the door. A thought occurred to him and he turned back. and his mind went blank.

      She was holding his pillow by one corner and staring at him. He imagined himself walking over there and taking it from her hands, leaning close and breathing in the scent of her neck. Feeling the silky heat of her flesh against his knuckles as he untied her sash and slid the dressing gown from her shoulders before laying her down and letting her help him forget why he’d come home.

      But pink and pretty didn’t deserve to be used in that way. She didn’t deserve to be used in that way.

      She arched a brow, waiting, and he realised that he’d been about to ask a question before he’d been blindsided. ‘Are you working tomorrow?’

      She hesitated, looking uncertain. ‘No. Not tomorrow.’

      She also sounded vague. ‘Are you sure?’ he prompted. ‘You’re not thinking of playing hooky, are you? Because—’

      ‘Because you’re here to take care of everything and not to worry my pretty little head over it?’

      Right. He wouldn’t have said it in quite that way but, yep, that pretty much summed it up.

      She made a dismissive snort and didn’t look the least bit impressed. She had that sulky pout going on again.

      He didn’t see the problem. Protection came naturally to him. Other women would be grateful for his assistance. And only too willing to show that gratitude. In any number of ways.

      Not Melissa Sanderson apparently.

      ‘Okay. Fine.’ Whatever you say.

      But there was something she wasn’t saying, he could see it in the way she evaded his eyes. He also remembered the almost hunted gaze from earlier and the way she’d pushed at him. ‘I’ll say goodnight, then,’ he clipped. ‘Oh, and if you’re looking for a spare pillow, there are three other bedrooms to choose from.’

      As he walked out into the stormy night he wondered whether she had, in fact, planned to sleep in his bed. The thought of that soft satiny skin on his sheets and that alluring feminine scent on his pillow smouldered through his bloodstream. Lengthening his stride, he distanced himself as quickly as possible.

      CHAPTER THREE

      BLAKE carried the rest of her decorating gear up to the house, then returned to see what he could do about the mess. He swapped the small container beneath the now free-flowing drip for a bucket and snatched up a newspaper from beside the couch to absorb the water on the floor.

      As he spread it out he noticed an ad for a retail assistant’s job in a beachwear shop circled in a red felt-tipped pen then crossed out with ‘TOO LATE’ scrawled beneath it and a sad face. Hadn’t Lissa said she was an interior designer?

      Was that why she wasn’t working tomorrow? Because she didn’t have a job? He glanced over to the final notice on the fridge door. Obviously she was in financial difficulty and just as obviously she hadn’t told Jared because if he knew his old mate, no way would he have let this situation arise. No job and inadequate accommodation. Dangerously inadequate accommodation.

      Bloody hell.

      Blake had inherited a duty of care here. Not only because it came naturally to him but because Jared had been his closest mate, the brother he’d never had. As a young teenager, when neither of his parents cared whether he even came home at night, Jared had been there. Until his friend had taken on the heavy responsibility of parenting. It was no wonder he’d done such a good job with his sisters.

      The rain continued to pelt down while he surveyed the deck once more. Nope. Useless to try doing anything more until the storm blew out to sea. He went inside to ensure all the windows were closed, located the fuse box and turned the power off.

      Then he stood on deck a moment, glaring at the house while water sluiced down his face and soaked down to his skin. He needed the chill factor. The fire in his groin, which had been smouldering since he’d first laid eyes on Lissa, had morphed into a raging inferno the instant he’d seen her nose buried in his pillow.

      Hell, he needed more than wind and water to douse the flames. He needed a woman.

      And now he was going to have to try and sleep up there after all, knowing one very attractive, very sexy woman was a few quick steps away down the hall.

      The strip of golden sand was strewn with shells, driftwood and dead palm leaves where the rainforest met the sea. An azure sky, the air laden with the pungent smells of lush vegetation and decaying marine life. It should have been a tourist paradise.

      Even in sleep, Blake knew it wasn’t. Because the heavy pounding at the back of his skull was gunfire.

      He’d been one of five clearance divers on the beach that day. It had been a routine training exercise. Until the jungle had exploded. Exposed and caught unprepared, they’d returned fire and made a run for it. But the newest member of the unit, Torque, had frozen.

      No time to think. Blake dodging bullets as he retraced his steps. Grabbing and dragging the quivering kid back across the beach with him. Then more shots, searing the air and zinging past his head. Torque’s last agonised cry as he fell against Blake, knocking him off balance. Rocks coming up to meet Blake as he fell. Then blackness…

      Blake woke dry-mouthed, shaking, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was chilled to the bone, lathered in sweat, his skull reverberating as if he’d been struck from behind by Big Ben. It took a moment to draw breath, fight off the sheet, which had twisted around his legs.

      He reached for the heavy-duty painkillers on the bedside table, swallowed them dry. The hospital doctor had ordered Blake to take them for at least another week. But he’d refused the sleeping pills even though he never slept more than a couple of hours at a time. If only the doc could prescribe him some magic potion to take away the nightmares.

      He pushed upright and stared out of the window where the pre-dawn revealed a star-studded charcoal sky swept clear of last night’s storm. Torque had been just a kid, full of fresh-faced ideals and too damn young to die.

      Blake had been that young idealist too, once.

      Unwilling to subject himself to further night horrors, he rose, pulled on a pair of shorts. He almost forgot about the boat—he glanced out of the window again to make sure the thing was still afloat, then headed downstairs. Past the bedroom where Lissa dreamed untroubled dreams.

      Stopping in front of the living room’s glass door, he slid it open to let the damp breeze cool his face. He could almost smell the СКАЧАТЬ