Page 2 of Sun, Sea & Strawberry Shortcake
Joanna will probably go down to meet him, so that might holdhim up a bit. And that will mean we’re talking at least half an hour shiveringon a damp doorstep...
With a resigned sigh, I haul myself up and – feet throbbing– I pick my way gingerly round the back and across the grass to the gardenshed. Peering in, I look around for anything that could possibly act as anoutfit. Mr Nolan’s quite short-sighted without his glasses, apparently, so witha bit of luck, he might not even notice if I’m wearing a lawnmower cover.
In the end, a roll of luminous green anti-bird strawberrynetting proves to be the best option, and I drape the whole scratchy thing tightlyaround myself, multiple times, to cover my modesty. Then I half-walk, half-hopto Mr Nolan’s front door, feeling like a trussed-up Christmas tree.
I’m hopingMrsNolan might come to the door, but ofcourse she doesn’t.
‘Ruby.’ Mr Nolan’s eyes almost pop out of his head, beforeproceeding to travel over my person. ‘Splendid to see you. My goodness, that’san interesting dress.’
I force a laugh. ‘Yes, I was – um – in the shower and Imanaged to get locked out of the house. But I found this netting in the shed.’
‘Hm. Fancy that.’ He adjusts his glasses for a better view.‘Well, I never. So you’re actually wearingnothing at allbeneath thatnetting, then? You’re quite in the buff.Au naturel, in fact. Birthday-suitedand not even booted.’ He looks at my bare feet, chuckling with delight at hisown joke.
I swallow irritably. ‘So could I have Hudson’s spare key,please?’
‘Yes, of course.’ He raises a lascivious eyebrow. ‘It’s rathercool for June. I’d hazard a guess you have goosebumpseverywhere. Whynot come inside while I get the key?’
Shivering, I’m about to step gratefully into the hallway,when he leans closer and murmurs in a confiding tone, ‘Mrs Nolan’s out tonight.At her life drawing class.’
I withdraw my foot immediately, staggering back over thestep, and the netting I’m wearing manages to snag on a prickly bush by thedoor.
‘I’ll just wait here,’ I say as he departs, forcing a brightsmile and making subtle tugging motions, trying to get free from the bush. Butthose annoying prickles have grabbed on tight, snarling up the netting, firmlyresisting my desperate attempts to free myself.
And Mr Nolan is about to come back with the key...
Aargh!
The thought of that man having to cut me free is not apleasant one.
But at that moment, I hear a car. And when I turn, to myenormous relief, Hudson is pulling onto his driveway. I start waving madly,worried he won’t glance my way. But I guess I’m impossible to miss in my luminousgreen strawberry netting couture because he sees me instantly and walksstraight over.
‘Don’t ask,’ I hiss, as he surveys me with a broad grin.‘Just get me some scissors and a cover-up!’
Luckily, his waterproof is on the back seat of the car, andby the time Mr Nolan returns, Hudson has managed to free me from the clutchesof the prickly bush and is wrapping me in the jacket.
‘Ah. I suppose this is no longer needed, then?’ says MrNolan, dangling the key with a regretful look.
Hudson shakes his head. ‘No, no. Thanks anyway. I’ll getRuby home before she freezes to death.’ He grins. ‘I’m looking forward togetting to the bottom of the strawberry netting.’
Mr Nolan gives him a nod and a wink. ‘I bet you are, youngman. I bet you are.’
‘Ugh. He’s revolting.’ I tumble gratefully into Hudson’shouse, feeling the warmth instantly wrap around me like a cosy blanket.
‘Mr Nolan? He’s okay. He’s just a bitCarry On Matron,that’s all. And I can hardly blame the poor man for fancying you.’ Laughingsoftly, he wraps his arms around me and I snuggle closer, breathing in his lovelyman scent. ‘Now, how about we get you warmed up, good and proper?’
‘Hm. Does that mean you’re going to turn up the centralheating? Or was that more of an “ooh matron” suggestion?’
‘What doyouthink?’ His voice grows deeper and alittle hoarse as my hands creep under his shirt, sliding over smooth, warm skin,and I shiver with delight, revelling in the immediacy of his response to mytouch. He tips my face up to his and kisses me thoroughly until I’m putty inhis hands and my knees are of no use to woman or beast.
‘Upstairs?’ I gasp.
‘Not fancying the rocking chair this time, then?’ he murmursin my ear.
‘No, thanks. I’m still having flashbacks. Being catapultedover the chair back when it toppled over.’
He chuckles. ‘Come on, then.’ He takes my hand and westumble over to the stairs – just as ‘Hey Jude’ starts blasting out, shatteringthe mood.
‘Don’t answer it,’ I mumble, as he digs out his phone.
