Stranded With The Secret Billionaire. Marion Lennox

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      ‘I have no sense at all,’ she told Samson. ‘Okay, he might be good-looking enough to make my toes curl but my toes are not a good indicator. My father thinks I’m an idiot, and where men are concerned I’ve just proved him spectacularly right. I need to ignore Matt Fraser and get on with my job.’

      She opened the pantry again and gazed at the contents in delight.

      This place was like a miniature supermarket. Filled with hope, she headed out the back. A vegetable garden! Herbs!

      Her head was spinning in all directions. What first?

      She could make cupcakes for morning tea. No. She pulled herself up short. Cupcakes might seem girly and the last thing she needed was guys thinking her food was girly. Okay, lamingtons. Better. She could whip up a couple of sponges now and coat them first thing in the morning. Then maybe a couple of big frittatas for lunch, with salads from the gorgeous stuff in the garden and fresh crusty bread. She had an overnight bread recipe. She could start it now so it’d rise magnificently overnight.

      She looked at the sacks of flour and realized that Matt had supplies for an army. This must be provisioning for the rest of the year.

      She wasn’t complaining.

      Next? What had Matt called it...arvo tea? If they’d eaten a big lunch they wouldn’t want much. Chocolate brownies?

      ‘Let’s go,’ she told Samson and he wiggled his tail at the joy in her voice.

      There hadn’t been much joy lately but she was feeling it now.

      And she had to ask herself—was it just a little bit because a guy called Matt Fraser would be sharing a house with her for the next two weeks?

      Was it just a little bit because a guy called Matt Fraser had caused a tingle of something she couldn’t put a name to?

      ‘It has nothing to do with Matt,’ she told Samson severely. ‘It’s only the fact that I’m a world away from ghastly Brett and smug Felicity, and I’m needed.’

      And the fact that Matt was sexy as...

      Surely that had nothing to do with anything at all?

      * * *

      He’d met her only hours before. She was a society princess in a pink car and she had nothing to do with his world.

      So why was he still feeling her hand on his, the way her body had seemed to melt into his as she’d edged him aside to stop him doing the unthinkable—flipping his eggs!

      Why did it suddenly feel as if his world was tilting?

      There was no reason at all, he told himself and headed out to make sure the hens were locked up for the night.

      ‘Who is she?’ It was Donald—caring for the chooks was his job. But increasingly Donald forgot. Age was beginning to fuddle him, but he didn’t seem to notice that Matt double-checked on most things he did.

      Donald had run this property alone for fifty years. He was a confirmed bachelor and to say he treated women as aliens would be an understatement. Penny’s presence, it seemed, had shocked him to the core.

      ‘I pulled her out of the creek,’ Matt told him. ‘She was taking a dumb shortcut. She’s stuck here until the water goes down.’

      ‘Stuck. Here.’ Donald said the two words as if they might explode and Matt almost laughed. He thought of the ditzy little blonde in his kitchen and wondered if there was anything less scary.

      Although there were scary elements. Like the way his body reacted to her.

      Um...let’s not go there.

      ‘She can cook,’ he told Donald as he shooed the last hen into the pen and started collecting the eggs. ‘The shearers’ cook is stuck on the far side of the floodwater. If she can keep the team happy...’

      ‘She can cook!’ Donald’s mother had run off with a wool-buyer when Donald was seven. His opinion of women had been set in stone since.

      He grinned. ‘I hear some women can.’

      Donald thought about it. ‘Rufus seems to like her,’ he conceded at last. ‘I watched her scratch his ear so she can’t be all bad. What’s that bit of fluff she’s got with her?’

      ‘A poodle.’

      ‘A poodle at Jindalee! What next?’

      ‘I’m thinking of getting him to help drafting the mobs in the morning,’ Matt said and Donald gave a crack of laughter.

      ‘He might end up getting shorn himself. I wonder what the classer’d make of that fleece?’ He grinned. ‘So you’ve got a woman and a poodle in the homestead. Want to kip in my place for the duration?’

      ‘That’d be a bit of overkill. I’ve put her in your old bedroom and you know I sleep at the other end of the house. I think we can manage.’

      ‘Women reel you in.’

      ‘That’s eighty years of experience speaking?’

      ‘Eighty years of keeping out of their way. Mark my words, boy, it’s like a disease.’

      ‘I’ve been married, had a kid and have the scars to prove it,’ Matt said, his grin fading. ‘I’m immune.’

      ‘No one’s immune.’ Donald shook his head and gestured to the house with a grimy thumb. ‘Don’t you go in till she’s safely in bed and leave before she wakes up. Have your cornflakes at my place.’

      ‘I’ll be careful,’ Matt promised him and smiled, although suddenly for some reason he didn’t feel like smiling.

      He thought of Penny—maybe Donald’s advice was wise.

      Lifting eggs from the nesting boxes, he enjoyed, as he always did, the warmth, the miracle of their production. He’d never quite got over the miracle of owning this place. Of never being told to move on.

      He found himself thinking of his mother, going from one disastrous love affair to another, dragging her son with her. He’d learned early that when his mother fell in love it meant disaster.

      She’d left and finally he’d figured he didn’t need her.

      After that...his first farm, financial security, finally feeling he could look forward.

      And then deciding he could love.

      Darrilyn.

      And there it was again—disaster. Because Darrilyn didn’t want him. She wanted the things his money represented. Two minutes after they were married she was pushing him to leave the farm he loved, and when he didn’t...

      Yeah, well, that was old history now. He didn’t need Darrilyn. He didn’t need anyone. But Donald was right.

      He needed to be careful.

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