I had done a great job today of avoiding Jack MacAuley, who had arrived pretty much at the crack of dawn as far as I could make out because his rental car had been parked in the driveway when I’d got up that morning.
I’d caught glimpses of him around the place. In shorts again. As messy and fuzzy and sexy as I remembered. Wearing a T-shirt. I almost regretted having made that point yesterday. I scowled at myself. I was a creep and a stalker. I’d looked him up online last night, unable to help myself. And I had to admit I’d been surprised. He was actually a landscape architect and CEO of his own company.
He had worked on some of New York’s biggest urban spaces, one of which I’d visited just after it opened when I was there with my mother on one of her guilt-busting exercises where she lavished me with attention for about three days before discarding me again.
But, I’d loved that space. A park, built in and around one of New York’s museums, as if the land was inching its way into the building so the outside and inside were inextricably intertwined. I remember how mesmerised I’d been. That had been Jack’s first big job and it had won awards.
Impressive. Disconcerting. I’d judged him. Because he’d made me uncomfortable from the moment I’d seen him, making me aware of myself in a way that was earthy and sensual. It had been deeply disconcerting because I’d long ago resigned myself to the fact that I just wasn’t a sexual being. Sex had never done anything for me, and guys like Jack – oozing a cocky confidence – were guys I instinctively shied away from.
I blew some hair out of my face and resolved to put Jack MacAuley out of my mind. Maybe he’d gone back into town last night and had taken Lucy’s very unsubtle hint that she was interested. Not that it bothered me. He could do whatever he liked, with whoever he liked.
I’d made sure to go to the other side of the gardens away from where he was with the other landscapers. I didn’t know much about gardening but I was determined to muck in.
And then I heard a familiar voice nearby, deep and gravelly. ‘See, over here, Luke, this can all be cleared and put into the skip.’
‘OK, boss,’ came the cheerful response.
It didn’t even surprise me that he’d somehow become a figure of authority or that he was already on first-name terms with the crew.
He’d only been in Ireland a couple of days!
And I wasn’t ready to see him again. I felt like I needed armour around a guy like him and I was wearing flannel shorts and a short T-shirt. I was sweaty and grimy, hair pulled back and plastered to my head in the heat. I should have worn a hat. I ducked down behind the bush, hiding.
Another bush.
I scowled at myself. I was being pathetic. But, just when I thought the coast was clear, I stood up with the secateurs in my hand. And collided with Jack, who had apparently decided to tend to this bush, too. I was barely aware of dropping the secateurs because his hands were on my arms to stop me from toppling over backwards.
Adrenalin rushed into my system and I planted my hands on his chest. Suddenly my brain fused with white heat as I registered the feel of his muscles under my palms. And his scent. Earthy and musky and–
‘Hey, I didn’t see you there.’
I felt an absurd urge to giggle because it made me think of Twilight when Edward had saved Bella from the car crushing her. But this wasn’t Twilight and I wasn’t Bella and Jack wasn’t a sparkly vampire. He was Team Jacob – all heat and hair and growly.
I realised I was staring up at him like some kind of love-sick groupie and he was looking down at me. Then he frowned. ‘Were you… hiding?’
I spluttered. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, I was trimming this bush.’
Crap. How was it that every conversation I had with this guy featured bushes?
He pulled back but didn’t let go, and then he glanced down at my leg and cursed.
‘Shit, Skye, you’re bleeding.’
It didn’t make sense for a moment but then I looked down too, and saw the bright red trail of blood down my thigh, from a sizeable gash that must have been caused by dropping the secateurs. Instantly I felt woozy. Blood did that to me.
Jack cursed again and held me up. ‘Are you OK?’
My head was spinning a bit now and I started to slump. My tongue felt too big for my mouth. ‘I’m OK… just have a… thing about blood.’ Basically a phobia.
‘Where’s your first aid kit?’
I tried to focus. ‘It’s OK, it’s just a nick. I’ll go inside and clean it up.’ But when I pulled myself out of Jack’s hands, I swayed and he caught me again.
‘Woah, OK there. Lean on me and we’ll get you back to the house.’
I had no choice. I gritted my teeth and let him take my weight as I hobbled back up to the house. Thankfully we didn’t pass anyone. I couldn’t believe this was happening with him.
‘Where’s the kit?’ he asked.
We were in the kitchen. I pointed to the utility room. ‘In there, in the cabinet above the washing machine.’
He brought me into the cramped space and sat me down on a chair. I was starting to feel better but was deliberately not looking down at my leg.
‘I can manage, really. It’s fine,’ I murmured, but my voice sounded weak and thready to my own ears.
He glanced at me and said, ‘You look like a ghost, Skye.’
As he took the kit from the cabinet, I couldn’t help but notice his T-shirt pulling up and exposing his abdomen. All that hard flat expanse of packed muscle. Curiously, it made me feel a bit better. Not that I’d admit that.
Jack knelt down before me, all efficiency. Close up I could see that his colouring was more strawberry blond than I’d first imagined. Hair thick and curly, more than messy. The scruff on his jaw couldn’t hide the defined line. He’d still be as masculine without the beard and I felt a weakness in the pit of my belly.
He was deft and fast, stemming the bleeding, cleaning the wound with antispetic. I managed not to hiss or wince.
‘I don’t think it needs stitches, but it’s a nasty cut.’
He placed a large padded plaster over the cut, pressing the sides down. He was close, hands on my leg. I risked a look down and felt relief. The wound covered. There was just some blood on my shorts.
Suddenly I was ultra aware of him and how close we were. I had a bizarre urge for him to push my legs apart and move between them.
I stood up so abruptly he almost fell back. ‘Sorry, I… look, thank you for that.’
He got to his feet too and looked down at me. He was tall. Broad. Solid. I had another bizarre urge to walk into his arms and let them enfold me.
‘No problem,’ he said.
I was afraid he’d question me then about my reaction to the blood and so I asked, ‘How do you know this stuff?’
‘I own my own company so I had to do a health and safety course. I have basic first aid.’
I felt heat climb into my face. ‘I… know actually, what you do. I looked you up last night.’
He leant back against a wall, and folded his arms. For the first time since I’d met him, I felt the tiniest chill in the air.
He said, ‘You did, did you?’
‘Caitlin hadn’t really mentioned you before.’
Jack’s mouth tightened. ‘Yeah, she and Liam are pretty caught up in each other.’ Then, ‘So is this why you’re giving me the time of day now? Because I’m not just some gardener?’
My mouth fell open and my stomach dropped to the floor. ‘No, not at all…’
How could I tell him he’d disturbed me yesterday because of his intense sex appeal. And not because I’d believed him to be just part of the staff?
Indignantly I said, ‘I’m not a snob.’
He dropped his arms. Had he moved closer again? He seemed to be a lot closer. Within touching distance. ‘Maybe that was unfair. I thought you were cold, but you’re not cold at all, are you, Skye?’
I felt the sharp prick of hurt that he’d judged me to be cold, but I could hardly blame him. I’d taken one look at him and behaved like some kind of outraged aristocratic miss.
‘I’m not cold.’ I was hot, burning up. I thought of his hands on me just now, large and capable and surprisingly gentle. But I was sure they could be hard, too. In a good way. In a dirty way. I’d heard about this. Feeling like this. It was as if an elusive switch had finally been turned on.
From my first, very disappointing sexual experience to my most recent one, I had never failed to be left wondering what on earth everyone was talking about. I’d found sex tedious, uncomfortable and humiliating. I’d written myself off as just not that into sex. And yet here I was, tingling, burning up, melting and aching to have a guy’s hands on me.
He moved closer and I couldn’t take my eyes off his mouth. I wanted it on mine, to know how it would feel. Hard? Soft? Would the rough bristles of his beard leave a mark on my skin? And then a memory intruded, of another guy, with his hands on me, saying, ‘Skye, you’re so hot… Why do you give off such chilly vibes?’
And suddenly it was like a bucket of cold water had been tipped over my head. I froze. There was a good reason I didn’t like sex and it didn’t like me. I wasn’t good at it. I couldn’t let go. And I knew instinctively that Jack MacAuley was very good at sex. Self-confidence oozed from every pore. He was the kind of guy who had made many women come over and over again, I knew that as sure as I knew my own name. And if he touched me and realised that I was a block of ice inside… The humiliation I would feel would make what had happened before look like a sweet Disney movie life lesson.
Not that he was even thinking of me like that.
Jack stared at me. ‘OK?’
No. I stepped to the side of him and avoided his eye. ‘I, ah, should change, so I can get back out and keep working.’
And I fled, up the old servants stairs, to the bedrooms.
