Page 53 of Taming Her

He smiled. “So you’ll help me?”

She nodded and peered closer at the screen. “Of course, but it seems I need the exact dimensions to start with.”

“I can get you them.” He stood and stroked her damp hair. “You make a start on the list of plants.”

As he walked from the room he sensed the change in her. He’d been right, like everyone she needed a project, a goal.

And while he focused on Ava, she could throw her attention at his poor disheveled garden.

If he got really lucky, it would also become her garden. But he couldn’t let himself hope for that yet. She’d left him before. She could do it all over again.

And this time, Griff wasn’t sure how well he’d bounce back if Ava Sontag spooked and ran again.

Chapter 11

Four days later

Ava chopped tomatoes and tossed them into a green salad.

Griff was outside lighting a gas barbeque he’d bought online.

She smiled; he’d been excited about its arrival, never having owned one before. They were going to cook steaks and sausages to christen it.

She reached for another juicy tomato—Griff’s neighbor had dropped off a homegrown pile—and sliced it. Contentment had washed over her the last few days. Being at the cottage instilled a holiday feeling. The sun shone from dawn till dusk, and the surroundings were picture perfect.

Griff was also pretty damn easy on the eye and since that first kiss, he had been more affectionate, though still stern. At least she hadn’t had to go over his knee again. Her bottom had taken a nice break from his palm.

A tune she remembered from two years ago came on the radio. A happy song about sand, sea, and sangria. It reminded her of being in Ibiza with Mel. They’d had a wild time, partied all night, slept on the beach all day. They’d hooked up with some posh lads from Chelsea who’d had limitless credit cards and were happy to take them to all the best clubs to dance to the best DJ tunes.

She sang along, swaying her hips. Suddenly she was back there in the disco lights, her head spinning, the beat of the music thumping through her chest like a pulse. It had been great… the best.

Licking her lips, she could taste the cocktails, the champagne, the wine.

Mmm, that was what she needed now. A glass of wine.

She glanced at Griff. He was still fiddling with his new toy.

A few days ago she’d spotted a bottle of red wine at the back of a cupboard. With a splash of lemonade it would be perfect with their meal—homemade sangria.

She tossed the last of the tomatoes into the salad, then stooped into the cupboard and retrieved the wine. Griff would complain, of course he would, harp on about her getting healthy. But he had to lighten up. She had no intention of being teetotal forever.

And it had been ages.

She set two glasses on the island beside the salad and poured a couple of inches of the Shiraz into each. She then popped the ring pull on a can of lemonade and filled them up. Perhaps she should chop some fruit to add to the authenticity.

A shadow stretched onto the floor.

She looked up.

Griff was standing at the end of the island. His chino shorts sat low on his hips, a brown leather belt holding them there. His chest was bare, his shoulders glistening where the sun had been shining on his smooth flesh.

He glared at her. “What the hell are you doing?”

A rush of heat flared on her temples, spreading over her scalp. Her heart skipped a beat. “Just… making us a drink.” She shrugged, going for nonchalance.

“With wine?”

“Yes, only a splash.”

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