Out of Bounds Read Online Free PDF Page B

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 forearms 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