Chapter Three #3
‘Hey, nice evening,’ Jack said, sauntering over to the fence that divided the two properties. Of course, he didn’t have to stand on tiptoe and cling to the fence with his fingernails. His head and shoulders and half his muscled chest cleared it easily. ‘So, you’re my neighbour, huh?’
Sylvie hoisted her chin and glared at him. ‘Are you telling me you didn’t already know that?’
His smile made his eyes twinkle and laughter lines appear at the corners, as well as those attractive dimples. ‘I did my research before I bought the property. Due diligence and all that.’
Sylvie ground her teeth. How long had he known? Months and months? She had done a council search as soon as the house was sold but had only come up with a trust name and it certainly wasn’t the name Wilde. ‘Why didn’t you say something, like when we had coffee?’
‘I thought I’d surprise you.’
‘I hate surprises.’
He gave a mock-apologetic smile. ‘I hope you’re not too disappointed. If it’s any reassurance, I’m not home much. Most days, I only come home to fall into bed.’
‘Oh? With a new woman every night?’ Her tone was reproachful, like a moralising Sunday school teacher from the eighteenth century.
His smile widened and the twinkle in his eyes became a devilish glint. ‘I promise to keep the noise down.’
Sylvie could feel a blush staining her cheeks and was mortified he was witnessing it. ‘Likewise,’ she said, throwing him a look that suggested she was a female version of him, when in fact, she had never brought someone home. She didn’t like any casual dates finding out where she lived.
Jack swept his gaze over her garden with its overflowing pots and neat hedges and flowers and herbs. ‘It looks like you’ve got green thumbs, or do you get someone to do it for you?’
‘I enjoy gardening. I’m self-taught but I get by.’
‘Impressive.’
A long silence descended between them, broken only by the sound of the birds twittering in the shrubbery, preparing for nesting for the evening, and the drone of traffic on the streets out front.
She saw Jack glance towards her half-drunk glass of wine next to her geranium pot. ‘I don’t suppose you have a spare wine glass?’
She arched her brow in an imperious manner. ‘I guess that’s a change from asking for a cup of sugar.’
‘Never touch the stuff. I’m sweet enough.’ His grin was kryptonite weakening her willpower to keep her distance.
‘Would you like a glass of wine?’ The invitation was out before she could get her brain to list the reasons why socialising with him was not such a great idea.
‘How neighbourly of you.’ He launched himself over the fence with an agility that would have made a world champion gymnast envious.
He was wearing a close-fitting white T-shirt that highlighted his muscular chest and forearms, and his dark blue jeans clung to his lean hips and strong thighs in a way that made her acutely aware of his maleness.
Sylvie drew in a tight little breath and backed away, waving to the garden seat close to the back door.
‘Erm, would you mind waiting here while I… I freshen up?’ She pulled her sticky top away from her stomach but then wished she hadn’t because his gaze followed the movement of her hand.
‘I’ve been to a workout class and haven’t had time to—’
‘Take your time.’ He sat on the wooden bench, crossed one ankle over his other leg and leaned back as if he was completely at home.
Damn his confidence. Damn his arrogant assurance she would invite him in against her will, against her better judgement, against the warning bells of her conscience that saw him as a threat to her equilibrium.
‘I’ll get you a glass of wine first, of course.
’ Sylvie walked inside and poured a generous slug of the Pinot Grigio into a wine glass, then went back out and handed it to him.
He took it from her but in doing so, his fingers brushed against hers, sending a shower of sparks from her fingers to her feminine core like a lightning strike.
His ice-blue eyes met hers for a nanosecond, something in them warning her she had stepped into dangerous territory.
There was a throb of tension in the air that was palpable.
She had crossed a boundary she hadn’t intended to cross with Jack Wilde.
What was she thinking inviting him to wait for her to have a shower?
What was the point? She didn’t want to be friends with him or neighbourly…
although that seemed a bit petty. It was strangely comforting to know who was going to be living right next door to her, even if it was someone she didn’t particularly like.
Sylvie went back inside her house and headed for her en suite upstairs.
She groaned when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the basin.
Her sweat-soaked hair was plastered to her head; any make-up she had applied earlier in the day had smudged beneath her eyes or completely disappeared, and her cheeks had two red circles that might have been a post-workout flush, but she suspected had more to do with her handsome visitor waiting for her downstairs. Argh.