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I ever relax if a man wants to
touch me where Uncle Graham did? Or do any of the things in that
book?
    Her thoughts ricocheted in all directions as
Anton continued his savage attack. Abruptly he stopped and
straightened, stood the spade against the wall, un-kinked his neck,
and rolled his shoulders.
    He breathed harder now, chest rising and
falling under a slight sheen of moisture. In ten minutes, he’d
achieved more than she’d managed in an hour and a half.
    “Beer?” she asked in a strangled voice,
remembering the six-pack he’d parked in Gran’s fridge and that
she’d taken such exception to.
    “In a mo.”
    He squatted to collect up some of the broken
flooring, firing the shards through onto the sheet in the dining
room with deadly accuracy. He looked scarily angry. Was he working
off his frustration at her lack of co-operation about letting him
demolish her house?
    She breathed out slowly, then licked her
suddenly dry lips as she admired the snug blue denim over his taut
butt and thighs.
    When he rose again and turned in her
direction, she grabbed for the broom, desperate to hide the fact
she’d been practically eating him alive. She avoided his brilliant
blue eyes by dropping her gaze to the floor and sweeping with much
more force than was necessary.
    “Don’t go overboard,” he drawled, reaching for the
beers. “There might be asbestos in this old stuff. Come outside and
let the dust settle.”
    Anton stood with her under the laden peach
tree, watching her throat as she took small sips from her bottle.
He tipped his up and drank deeply, thirsty after the physical
exertion.
    Jetta reached out and tested one of the
peaches for ripeness. “Nearly ready,” she said, apparently wanting
to fill the awkward silence between them. “Gran used to preserve
these. There might be some jars of them left from last year.”
    He nodded but didn’t reply. The old lady’s
cooking skills were the last thing on his mind. From this angle the
sun lit Jetta’s breasts perfectly. She’d been braless under her
T-shirt that morning. Not expecting visitors. Not expecting him,
for sure.
    She’d been hot and dusty, soft and gently
jiggling.
    But she’d dressed up to go out. Now she’d
changed back into the same thin old shirt she’d worn that morning
and he could see the bra she’d left under it.
    A very low cut bra. With a just-visible band
of lace or embroidery on the top edge of the cups. Surely her
nipples were barely covered? It was black or chocolate or wine red;
the outline darker against her pale skin. Just the thought of that
pale fragrant skin made him swallow.
    He loved underwear. Always thought silly
shiny scraps of lace and ribbon enhanced a woman’s body—not to
mention they gave him the pleasure of slowly revealing what lay
concealed beneath them.
    He took another gulp of beer. His groin
prickled and tightened as he speculated.
    Damn. Not now. Keep her annoyed. Keep her at
a distance.
    “I’ll start moving in tonight,” he said.
    Jetta whirled around and faced him. “You will
not!” she ground out between clenched teeth. “You said Monday, and
as far as I’m concerned by Monday lunchtime I’ll have the proof I
need to stop you from moving in at all .”
    “Not going to happen, babes. Half this old
dump is mine.”
    “We’ll see about that.”
    Her gorgeous breasts rose with a deeply
gasped breath of indignation. The sensation in his groin
intensified.
    “You can’t move in before the funeral
anyway,” she added.
    “What time’s that?”
    “Ten on Monday morning—and you’re not
invited.”
    “Fine by me.” He tore his eyes away from her
sunlit breasts. “I presume you wouldn’t have started ripping up the
kitchen floor if you’d invited people back here afterward?”
    She shook her head. “I arranged everything
yesterday with the funeral director and the matron of the Eventide
Hospital, and put a notice in tonight’s paper.” She bowed her head.
“I’ve let Gran’s closest