Unravelled Read Online Free PDF

him in a suit and that was enough to make my mouth water, but dressed like this? He makes me think thoughts I promised myself I would never think again. Thoughts that cause throb low in my body and warms me up. Judging by his wet hair, he must’ve jumped out of the shower to come to my rescue. I force my eyes up to look at his face and all throbbing disappear like mist in front of the sun. Sigh. From the look on his face I’m going to be the one needing rescuing.
    “Get this animal away from my Fifi!” Fifi? How original. “That…that monster is going to kill her.”
    “Good morning, Mrs Vaughn.” His voice is deep and sexy and directed at an old lady wearing a curtain, and this costs me having to pinch the tender flesh under my arm to refocus my wayward thoughts to ‘new me’ thoughts. “This monster is not going to kill anyone. Alexandra was just taking him inside.”
    The pointed look I receive from Mr I-Charm-Old-Ladies makes me grab Blossom’s collar and head towards the cottage. I drag a resistant dog behind me wondering how I’ll ever be able to befriend Mr Wall Street, Erin ’s friend, when all these bad moments keep popping up like unwanted pimples before a date.
    Blossom eventually yields to my determined coaxing and follows me demurely to the cottage, looking as if he knows that he’s fuffed up once again. I hear Mr Wall Street calming his neighbour down and asking her all kinds of questions about her family. A real charmer.
    Back at the cottage I wait for Blossom to irrigate a flower bed before heading in and praying that the coffee machine I saw last night comes with coffee. This is just too much action for me this time of the morning without the assistance of a god-given cup of caffeine-laced joe. I locate the coffee after opening all the cupboard doors and knocking over what looks like a crystal glass. The gods must have decided to give me at least one smile today because it didn’t break.
    The coffee is brewing, filling the air with a wake-up aroma and I flop down in a kitchen chair. I close my eyes in an attempt to shut out this day that has descended on me too fast, but it comes stampeding back when a menacing knock at the glass sliding door makes it rattle all the way to its runners.
    Mr Wall Street doesn’t wait for me to open the door, but slides it open and stalks into my (technically his – but let’s not digress) humble abode. Maybe it’s the early hour of the day, maybe the lack of coffee or maybe it’s the onset of insanity, but as he advances towards me, the throbbing starts again and I can’t tear my eyes off his sculpted torso.
    “I know you were trouble before I even stopped on the side of the road. Now you’re ruining my neighbour relations.” His growl sounds like a sensual purr to my befuddled mind as I struggle to control my breathing. I wonder what it would be like to have rub myself against all that delicious looking skin. From a far distance in my mind a little voice is shouting at me to remember the past and to remember my decision, but it’s very difficult to listen to this voice when Michelangelo’s David is towering over me and I can smell the fragrance of the soap he uses.
    “Mmm…” is all I can manage as a response. I can hear Mr Wall Street in the background going on about something related to me needing a keeper, but I’m distracted by an intense attraction and that annoying little voice in my head reminding me about things I would rather forget. Surely my past would not repeat itself with Mr Wall Street? Maybe it would, but I’m sure the pleasure would make the inevitable pain that would follow worthwhile. Or not.
    It’s the silence that strenuously pulls me back to reality. With a superhuman effort I drag my eyes up from his stomach, up his muscular chest and let it travel to his face. And there I find that look of consternation again. I sigh inwardly with sad self-acceptance and give him a half smile of insincere apology.
    “Have you heard