Shrinking Violet was a finalist in the Romance Writers of Australia Romantic Book of The Year Award 2006
The hunk nodded, looking perplexed. His mop of shining black hair nodded with him. It reached his shoulders--very unfashionable. Most men these days wore their hair cropped, and a lot had their heads shaven. In fact, my brother Harry had his unruly curls shaved off last week, but that was to support a charity for sick kids.
I digress. The hunk was definitely looking bewildered.
“Yes, but if that’s the address you have, someone has misled you.” He scratched absently at his head. “My garden does not need work done on it and I don’t know where you were told it did.” He looked very flushed beneath his tan.
Nice eyes. Although they were flashing with angry indignation I could see they were a lovely shade of brown. Like chocolate. I love chocolate so naturally like chocolate-coloured eyes. Perhaps if I didn’t like chocolate so much I might have a lovely slim waist like one of these models. But there you go, I’ve been told I have a good pair of legs and a nice, pert rear end--not to mention a handy pair of boobs up top--so you can’t have everything.
I stuck my spade in the soil with a decisive thunk, and sauntered to my truck, sighing loudly to let him know I was annoyed. I took the clipboard from the front seat, patted Josh, my golden setter on the head and read out, very precisely, “Ninety-nine Hallelujah Way--property of Mister Sean Russel, with one L.”
“Look, that’s me--”
“Pleased to meet you.”
He ignored my outstretched hand and looked very harried. Surely this wasn’t that hard to take in? “But I did not order work on my garden.”
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