Playing By Her Rules (Sydney Smoke Rugby Series) by Amy Andrews Page B

of hours of sunlight. Should be able to get that first coat on, anyway, especially if Tilly helps.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Whaddya reckon? Many hands and all that stuff, and you can interview me as we go.”
    Matilda hesitated, but it seemed churlish to not be willing to paint her own grandmother’s porch railing. “Okay…sure.”
    Hannah took him down to the shed and the two of them disappeared for a couple of minutes before reappearing with some paint cans and brushes. Tanner set them down on the patio as Hannah kept going into the house. He used a screwdriver to pry the lids off.
    “She wants the railing this federation green colour and the balustrading white.” He handed Matilda a brush and the green paint. “You do the hand rail. I’ll tackle the uprights.”
    Hannah re-joined them, carrying an old button up shirt. “Here, sweetie,” she said to Matilda, “this will protect your dress.” She glanced at Tanner. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything big enough for you.”
    “No worries,” Tanner said, lifting his arms and yanking up the shirt from the back, pulling it over his head without removing the buttons, and tossing it on the nearby chair. “I’ll just go without.”
    Matilda’s mouth ran dry as her gaze devoured the hard smoothness of his chest and abs, the breadth of his shoulders, and the meaty bulk of biceps decorated in green inky thorns. Daily training session had honed the body of his youth into that of a man.
    A very fit man.
    Hannah winked at her granddaughter. “I’ll leave you two to it. The gardening show’s on the telly now, and I hate to miss it.”
    Matilda tore her gaze from Tanner’s frame to glare at her grandmother’s retreating back. She knew for a fact her grandmother hated the gardening show.
    She shoved her arms through the old shirt and did up the buttons with fingers that trembled uselessly. How the fuck was she going to concentrate on painting when all she really wanted to do was take that brush to his body?
    “Have you got your recorder thingy?” he asked as he sat at the far end of the porch.
    Did she? Matilda thought hard through a haze of lusty thoughts. Yes, in her bag. “It’s inside,” she said. “I’ll just go grab it.”
    As soon as she was safely in the house, Matilda sagged against the wall and prayed for strength. And it wasn’t just about his body, although God knew it was hard enough to resist when he was fully clothed. What was even more dangerous was the mellowing of her antipathy after his work here today. If she started to thaw on that front, it would be just a short, slippery slope to his arms.
    And she didn’t want to be another in his conga line of women. She wasn’t someone who could separate sex from a relationship—especially not where Tanner was concerned.
    He’d move on and she’d be screwed .
    And not in the good way.

    Thirty minutes later, she’d successfully managed to ignore the flash of wide shoulders in her peripheral vision as she asked Tanner questions about his early days with the Smoke whilst simultaneously creating a work of art that could have been displayed in the Louvre. She’d painstakingly painted the curved surface, taking her time, knowing that sooner or later she and Tanner were going to be meeting somewhere in the middle as he worked his way toward her from his end and then she’d no longer be able to ignore him.
    And that time was now. They were close enough so that his elbow occasionally brushed her leg.
    “Swap you,” he said, placing his paint can out of reach as he rose easily to his feet, towering over her all of a sudden, his shoulders and chest a big block of muscle dazzling her gaze.
    Beneath the harsh chemical smell of paint, she caught a warm undertone of ouzo. He was so close that if she wanted, she could reach out and touch him. Hell, with her head where it was, she could just lean in and lick a nipple. They were right there, two to choose from, flat and brown, with the steady