Tempted By Mr Off-Limits

He stood, but his sister wasn’t done with him yet. ‘I mean it, Hamish. I wouldn’t have suggested you move in with Lola if I thought you’d make a move on her.’

‘I’m not going to,’ he protested.

Clearly, Grace didn’t believe him. ‘She’s off-limits, okay?’

He was much too much of a gentleman to suggest Grace have this conversation with her bestie who had all but jumped him three months ago. But it did annoy him that somehow he was the bad guy here. ‘I think Lola can take care of herself.’

Grace shook her head at his statement, thankfully a little too tipsy to read anything into his terseness. ‘She comes across that way, I know. Brash and tough and in control. But she feels things as deeply as the next woman.’

A memory of Lola’s glistening eyelashes flashed on his retinas, the weight of her sadness about her patient as tangible now as it had been that night. Hamish sighed. Yeah. He knew how deeply Lola felt.

‘Lola and I are roomies only.’ He moved around to his sister and kissed her on the top of her head. ‘Thank you for dinner.’ She went to stand but he placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘You guys stay there. I can let myself out.’

Grace squeezed the hand on her shoulder. ‘Good luck on Monday. Ring me and let me know how your first shift went.’

‘I will.’ Hamish shook Marcus’s hand. ‘Goodnight.’

He left them to it, happy that his sister had found love but pleased to be away from their enviable public displays of affection.

* * *

Lola enjoyed about five seconds of contentment when she woke on Sunday morning before she remembered who was sleeping in the room across the hallway.

The feeling evaporated immediately.

She rolled her head to the side. Nine thirty. Normally she’d stretch and sigh happily and contemplate a lazy Sunday morning. No work to get to. No place to be. Her time her own.

Normally she’d walk down to one of the cafés that lined the Manly esplanade to eat smashed avocado and feta on rye bread while she watched people amble past. Maybe even stay in bed, read a good book. Or sloth around in front of the television, watching rom coms and eating Vegemite toast.

But she wasn’t going to be able to sloth around for the next two months. Because Hamish was here.

Lola stared at the ceiling fan turning lazy circles above her. It was dark and cool in her room as it was on the western side of the apartment but the prediction was for a warm day. She strained her ears to hear any movement from outside.

Was he up?

Lola shut her eyes as that led to completely inappropriate thoughts and a strange dropping sensation in the pit of her stomach.

Do not think about Hamish being up, Lola.

Was he out of bed? That was more appropriate. She couldn’t hear any noises but she’d bet her last cent he was. He was a country boy after all. And she’d known enough of them in her life to know they liked their sunrises.

Ugh. Give her a sunset any day.

Gathering her courage, she sat up and swung her legs out of bed. She had to face him some time. She couldn’t spend the next two months avoiding him like she had yesterday, running out on him about twenty minutes after he’d arrived and nodding a quick hello to him last night before heading to her room with the excuse of being tired.

So just get out there, already, and face him!

Dressing quickly in a simple floral sundress with shoestring straps, Lola pulled the band on her plait and fluffed out her hair a little. She’d left it in overnight to help with knot control and to tame the curls to a crinkly wave instead of a springy mess.

But that was it—she refused to make herself pretty for Hamish. Normally when meeting a guy she’d put on some make-up, spray on her favourite perfume and wear her best lingerie. Today she was wearing no make-up, she smelled only of the washing powder she used on her clothes and she deliberately chose mismatched, comfortable underwear.

Not that he was in the kitchen or the living room when she made an appearance and, for a second, a ribbon of hope wound through her belly before she flicked her gaze to the balcony to find him sitting at the table. Resigned, Lola poured two glasses of juice, slamming most of hers down before topping it up and wondering if it was too early for a slug of vodka.

Pulling in a steadying breath, she picked up the glasses and went out to make polite conversation. He turned as she slid the screen door open. Her heart was practically in her mouth as she prepared herself for her body to go crazy again but the incredibly visceral reaction from yesterday didn’t reappear and Lola smiled in relief.

It had clearly been an anomaly.

He smiled back and her belly swooped but it was still an improvement on yesterday. Plus, he was sitting there shirtless. A damp pair of running shorts clinging to his thighs was the only thing keeping him decent and that was up for debate.

‘You’ve been for a run?’ Lola gave herself full marks for how normal she sounded as she slid his glass across the tabletop. She was going to need to channel a lot of that if he was planning on walking around here shirtless very often.

‘Yep.’ He lifted the glass as if he was toasting her and swallowed the whole thing in several long gulps. Gulps that drew her gaze to the stretch of his neck and those gingery whiskers. ‘Thanks.’ He put the glass on the table. ‘I needed that.’

She noticed he had an empty water bottle by his elbow.

‘I can get you some more.’ Lola stood. She needed a moment after that display of manliness. Escaping to the fridge seemed the perfect excuse.

He waved her back down. ‘Nah. I’m good.’

‘So you...run every morning.’

‘Not every morning. But regularly enough. I figured it was a good way to get to know the neighbourhood.’

‘Did you make it to the beach?’

‘Yep. Ran along the esplanade. It’s very different to the scenery I’m used to.’

It was about five kilometres to the beach so he’d already run ten kilometres this morning. While she was sleeping. She’d have felt like a sloth if she was capable of feeling anything other than lust.

‘A lot more beach, I’d imagine.’ Toowoomba was a regional inland city, well over a hundred kilometres to the nearest beach.

‘Yes.’ He laughed. ‘Are you a runner?’

It was Lola’s turn to laugh. ‘I’m more of a hit-and-miss yoga in the park kinda gal.’ If she was going to get hot, sweaty and breathless, she could think of much more satisfying ways to do it. Preferably naked.