Stranded For One Scandalous Week (Mills & Boon Modern) (Rebels, Brothers, Billionaires Book 1) Natalie Anderson (that summer book .txt) đ
- Author: Natalie Anderson
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Merle Jordan wasnât boring. Merle Jordan wasnât like anyone heâd ever met. A very serious, homeless archivist.
By the late afternoon he was out of patience to wait any longer for when and how she might appear. He strode to the study, where he knew sheâd set up her archival operation. He blinked as his eyes adjusted from the bright sunlight outside. He avoided looking at the cardboard box open on the floor, nor did he glance at the papers spread on the large table. He still wasnât ready.
Merle was standing by the table, a page in hand, staring at him, and he stared right back because what was she wearing? The white inspection gloves on her hands he could understand, but those coveralls? Akin to a hazmat suit, they enveloped her completely, only instead of white or blue or high-vis neon, they were all black. They were, without doubt, the most shapeless sack heâd ever seen.
âIs something wrong?â she asked nervously.
He could still only stare. Beyond the suit her skin was as luminous as heâd remembered and he lost himself in her dark brown eyes. They reminded him of rich chocolate, that sort heâd like to play withâto melt, then lick. As he watched, her eyes widened and grew darker. Velvet delicious. Her long brunette hair was held back in a loose braid that hung down her back. Utilitarian, yes. Also, stunning. He still couldnât stop staring.
âMr Castle?â
That snapped him back to reality. âMr Castleâ was his father, Hugh. He was Ash.
âHow are you getting on?â he asked.
âWell, thank you.â Her polite response wasnât enough to sugar-coat her wish to dismiss him and only worsened his irritation. His own contrariness was killing him.
âDid you find a body in the bunker?â he muttered.
Her brown eyes widened fractionally before a flinch compressed her features. âA...what?â
âA body. In the bunker,â he repeated unrepentantly and grinned as he gestured towards her. âHence the forensics fashion.â
He knew heâd been out of line, but he wanted her to unleash the spirit flaring in her eyes.
Her chin lifted. âVery funny.â
Vitality flowed through his veins. It might be a frosty reaction, but heâd got her to speak.
âA lot of the boxes are dusty.â She iced her explanation with the coolest of tones. âMy âforensics fashionâ protects my clothes.â
Even as fiery embarrassment stained her skin, the determined dignity in her restrained response made him squirm. To his amazement, Ash experienced a rare moment when he regretted his teen-acquired tendency to say whatever outrageous thing popped into his head. And what kind of sub-human was he for being annoyed that she was so well-covered by her clothing?
But as he watched, her smooth forehead wrinkled and her coolly assessing gaze narrowed. âYou were joking about a bunker, right?â
âYou mean you donât know?â he drawled, as he realised an opportunity had suddenly opened up. Sheâd fallen for bait heâd not intended to set.
âIf only you had a moustache, you could twirl the ends,â she muttered. âObviously I donât know, or I wouldnât have asked.â
He paused to savour the surprising sass of her answer. She was crisply to the point and her quietly crackling energy stoked his.
âThereâs a secret bunker,â he said, determined to snare her interest now.
âA relic from the war?â She frowned. âHere on the property?â
âSadly no, not a historic one. That wouldâve been fascinating. This one is more...â Bonkers. He cleared his throat. âItâs new. My father had it installed.â
Her eyebrows lifted. âYou mean a panic room?â
âI think itâs a little more over the top than that.â Heâd not checked it out yet. Heâd missed its construction entirely and had only become aware of its existence when heâd read through the list of current contractors the estate was paying for. Because heâd been so out of sorts at his glimpse of the garden, heâd avoided investigating in full the other changes to the grounds. Having Merle with him while he did might be a good diversion.
âWhy would your father want a bunker?â She looked confused. âWhy here?â
âWhy indeed?â He had no idea, he just wanted to avoid his history by focusing on her and he didnât want her to disappear on him again yet. âWant to see it?â he purred.
Her eyes darkened even more, melting into delicious pools of an unreadable emotion.
âIâm partway through this box,â she muttered.
It was a weak show of reluctance. An absurd level of anticipation swept through him. Surely this was like catnip to a woman who liked historical records and old things?
âItâll still be here when weâre done,â he replied easily, trying not to let his eagerness for her company show too obviously. âApparently, itâs only in the garden. It shouldnât take long.â
He watched, conscious of the increasing awareness between themâthe rising colour in her cheeks, the thrum of heat in his blood.
âThere might be all kinds of things stored in there that should be considered for the archives,â he tempted.
âYou donât know for certain?â
âIâve not been in there yet.â
Surprise flashed. âYouâve not yet ventured into a secret bunker thatâs been built here?â
He shook his head, suppressing the instinctive rejection of anything his father had built and focusing on her. âCould be exciting, right?â he said blandly. âLike discovering Tutankhamunâs tomb?â
He watched as her mouth quivered, but she couldnât suppress her smile for long. A hard lump in his chest eased. One point on the boardâheâd made her smile. And it had been worth the effort.
âLet me just finish up with this letter.â She put the document she held onto the table, drawing his attention to his fatherâs things. Things that made his skin crawl. Things he wanted to burn.
âYou donât wear glasses?â he asked, distraction a necessity as she marked up something with her pencil.
âStereotype, much?â she muttered coolly. âBookish girl must need glasses?â
He laughed. This was what
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