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He raked both hands through his hair in what seemed to be a well-worn path. My rates are very reasonable.’įor a long moment her gaze met his and she saw something in his eyes that might have been regret before the shutters went down.
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I…I thought I could help restore it to what it should be. But it…it upsets me to see the garden like that when it could look so different. To her, plants were living things that deserved love and care. It’s choking itself to death.’ She couldn’t keep the note of indignation from her voice. There’s a beautiful garden under there somewhere. ‘I’m a horticulturalist.’ She indicated the garden with a wave of her hand. Well, except myself.’ That didn’t sound right. A cranky old man or eccentric old woman might have given her worse. But she refused to let herself get flustered. ‘Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying.’ ‘I wouldn’t have let you in the gate if I’d known that,’ he said. She didn’t like the edge of sarcasm to the word.īut she supposed her uniform of khaki trousers, industrial boots and a shirt embroidered with the logo of the garden design company she worked for could be misconstrued as courier garb. ‘You…you think I’m a courier?’ she stuttered. Shelley was so shocked at his abrupt tone, she glanced down at her empty hands as if expecting a parcel to materialise. He shook his head impatiently, gestured with his hands. ‘Where’s the parcel?’ His voice was deep, his tone abrupt.
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She cleared her throat to free her voice but he spoke before she got a chance to open her mouth. His dark scowl was what made him seem intimidating. The effect was extraordinarily attractive in a don’t-give-a-damn kind of way. His hair lacked recent acquaintance with a comb, his jaw was two days shy of a razor and his black roll-neck sweater and sweatpants looked as though he’d slept in them. Yes, he seemed dark and forbidding-but not in the haunted-house way she had expected. It was because he was so heart-stoppingly good-looking.Ī guy this hot, this movie-star handsome, with his black hair, chiselled face and deep blue eyes, hadn’t entered into her imaginings for a single second. Her reaction wasn’t just because the man who filled the doorframe with his impressive height and broad shoulders was young-around thirty, she guessed.
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The reality of the person who opened the door to her was so different her throat tightened and the professional words of greeting she had rehearsed froze unsaid. Or a crabby, Scrooge-like old man cut off from all who loved him. Her imagination had gifted her visions of a broken-hearted old woman who had locked herself away from the world when her fiancé had been killed at war. Over the last weeks, as she’d walked past the house in the posh inner-eastern suburb of Darling Point, she’d wondered about who lived there. She pushed it open with a less than steady hand. The buzzer sounded and the gate clicked a release. It wasn’t just that she was looking for extra work-somehow she had felt compelled by this garden since the day she’d first become aware of it when she’d got lost on her way to the railway station. In spite of the sunlight, Shelley shivered. This was Sydney on a bright winter’s afternoon with shafts of sunlight slanting through the undergrowth but there was an element of eeriness to the house, of secrets undisturbed. It distressed her horticulturalist’s heart to see the out-of-control roses, plants stunted and starved of light by rampant vines, and unpruned shrubs grown unchecked into trees. The early twentieth-century house was handsome with peaked roofs and an ornate turret but it was almost overwhelmed by the voracious growth of a once beautiful garden gone wild. Even then, with her hand on the ornate wrought-iron gate, she quailed before pushing it open. SHELLEY FAIRHILL HAD walked by the grand old mansion on Bellevue Street at least twenty times before she finally screwed up enough courage to press the old-fashioned buzzer embedded in the sandstone gatepost. Can he let Shelley’s light in and finally let his second chance at love blossom? Since losing his wife, Declan has adjusted to a life of self-imposed isolation-he wants Shelley to tackle the weeds, then leave.īut as Shelley gradually restores order and unexpected beauty to his garden, her caring nature also begins to thaw the ice encasing Declan’s heart. Beauty and the reclusive billionaire… When billionaire Declan Grant decides his estate’s enormous garden needs taming, he hires idealistic horticulturalist Shelley Fairhill to take on the challenge.