What a Woman Gets (11 page)

If only she'd seen her father for who he truly was.

“I can't believe he thought the furniture wasn't a good idea. People love that sort of thing.”

“I know. There's a market for my work. A few hinges, a hammer or two, and a good coat of paint can transform an old piece of furniture into something useful and decorative. Just because it's old doesn't mean it's out of the game.”

“I hear you. I buy old houses, fix them up, and flip them. Make a decent living doing so, too.”

That was how her father started out. “What about cleaning? I thought that's what you did.”

“Uh, well, yeah. I do that, too. To help my sister out.”

What a nice guy. Hardworking, too. And then there was the good-looking thing.

Yeah, she better watch out or she could get attached very easily, and then where would her grand plans for her future be? Liam had come along at both the right and the wrong time.

“So did you do your own house?”

Liam's back got a little straighter, his chest puffed out a little more. “I did.”

He had a right to his pride. “You do great work, Liam. I mean, I don't know what your place looked like before you bought it, but you have great taste.”

A flash of something crossed his face, but he covered it with a shrug before she could figure out what it meant. “I just pick out what I like.” He cleared his throat. “So shall we do this before your father shows up?”

Big fat yes on that one. “Let's grab the credenza first, but be careful of the front leg. It's hanging on by one thread of the screw.”

He arched his eyebrow at her. “And you thought you were going to get this in the truck by yourself?”

“I wasn't thinking, okay?” About a lot of things, obviously. “Besides, I'm imposing on you enough as it is and didn't want to ask. I would have figured something out.”

“And broken it while doing so. Then where would you be?”

She flicked open the cabinet door and it
thunked
lopsidedly open. “It couldn't be any worse than it already is.”

He stared at it for a second or two, then looked at her. There was something in that look . . . Dare she think it
might
be admiration?

“I can't wait to see this when you're finished. If you can turn this piece of junk into something worth five figures, I owe you dinner.”

“You're on.”

“That means that if it doesn't, you owe
me
dinner.”

“I'm not worried.” She wasn't because either way, she'd have dinner with Liam Manley.

Though maybe
that
ought to worry her.

*   *   *

L
IAM
kept his eyes glued to the rearview mirror as he drove away from his home for the third time today. The princess was ensconced in his garage, tarp on the floor, her furniture strewn around her, and the look on her face was one he would've expected to see on a sale day at the mall, not for a bunch of broken hunks of wood and marble that were going to require some decent carpentry skills, not to mention a hell of a lot of talent in the artistry department. He didn't have the heart to tell her that the reason she'd gotten five figures for that other piece had to have had more to do with her father's name than some finishing-school art class.

He hoped she wasn't living with him when the realization sank in. He didn't want to test his resolve against a woman's tears; he doubted he was as immune as he'd like.

He definitely wasn't immune to her smiles. Or her frowny looks as she studied the chest of drawers from every angle. Or the sexy tilt of her chin as she tapped a paintbrush handle against it.

Luckily, he looked out the front window then—just in time to avoid a tree that was about six inches from his bumper.

He swerved, cursing himself for getting distracted. He needed to have his head examined.

Normally, he'd go visit one of his brothers to talk about what was bothering him, but he didn't want the looks. The lectures. They'd heard enough of his bitching when Rachel had pulled her stunt; he didn't want to go running back with his tail between his legs again because of a gorgeous smile and that damn spunky determination he'd never have thought Cassidy Davenport would have in her.

Figured. The latest socialite he was stuck with was starting to defy the stereotype.

P
INK
rhinestone T-shirt, white embroidered capris, black yoga pants, long flowing tie-dyed caftan her father would probably order her to burn, short-shorts he
definitely
would, and a leather jacket that looked as if it'd come right off some motorcycle gang chick . . . Cassidy was smiling as she pulled the outfits Liam had brought her from the bag, trying to not get all tingly at his thoughtfulness.

But when she hit the peach nightie, blue silk robe, and black stilettos with the ankle straps, she lost that battle. Only it was a different sort of tingle. There was something about the idea of him handling those silky things that did deliciously naughty things to her insides.

Not a good idea. You wanted to be on your own, remember? No guys. Not your father, not a sugar daddy, and no boyfriend. This time is for you.
About
you. Remember that.

She was trying to, but he had to go and be so darn nice on top of being so sexy.

Titania yipped by her ankle, then jumped to her knee. The Maltese was normally a perfectly behaved little lady, except when she was hungry.

“Is it dinnertime, Titania?” Cassidy felt naked without her cell phone. She couldn't believe her father had turned it off. And booted the car. And let her walk out with nothing but the clothes on her back.

She looked at the pile she'd folded into the dresser drawers in the room Liam had given her and smiled. One dilemma solved. She'd love to hug him for that.

Among other reasons.

Titania yipped again.

“Okay, okay.” Cassidy tucked that thought out of the way and closed the last dresser drawer before heading to the kitchen to find the dog food packets she'd brought from home. She took inventory. There were enough left to last about a week. Which didn't leave her a lot of time to finish the credenza if she wanted to sell it for dog-food money. A tough schedule on a normal day, and that was
if
Jean-Pierre would even
consider
taking on another piece. Which would necessitate her rounding up some courage, putting her mortification at her father's antics behind her, and plead with him to risk her father's wrath.

And if he even
did
agree, she'd have to pray the credenza would sell as quickly as the chest had.

Those were a lot of
if
s. And her entire future—as well as Titania's—was resting on them.

So she stuck her rhinestone-studded protective glasses on and got to work.

*   *   *

A
few hours later, she was covered in sawdust and dried wood glue, and had repaired the droopy hinges on the credenza's doors. The wobbly leg was no longer in danger of breaking off, and after a few more passes with the chamois, the piece would be ready for the first coat of paint.

Cassidy removed her glasses and dust mask, swiped some sweaty, sawdust-laden hair off her forehead, then glanced outside. It was dark. She was always amazed how time passed when she was engrossed in her work.

Poor Titania had been locked up in Liam's laundry room since she'd come out here. Good thing the dog had answered the call of nature before Cassidy had locked her in, but now it was Cassidy's turn. And she ought to take a shower to clear this crud off.

She looked out through the garage door. Not a sign of Liam. Good.

She turned off the lights, then stripped off her T-shirt and shorts, not wanting to clean up a trail of sawdust all the way to the bathroom, and ran back into the house in her underwear.

Liam sure knew how to treat his guests—or his indentured servants, but she wasn't going to let that stop her from enjoying the luxury of a full marble shower with an overhead sprinkler showerhead and the full body accompaniment. After the cruddy day she'd had, she could use a little pampering.

And as she stepped into the perfectly timed pulsing spray with the toiletries she'd appropriated from her own bathroom, it felt as if she was stepping into heaven.

*   *   *

L
IAM,
however, was in hell.

He'd stepped out of his truck—right onto a pile of clothes.

Cassidy's clothes.

The ones she'd been wearing earlier.

There was only one reason a woman would drop her clothes in the middle of a garage, especially when they were covered in sawdust.

She was running around his house naked. Or in her underwear, which—seriously—was not any better.

What had he done to deserve this torture? He'd tried to do a
good
thing and now he was paying the price of the dammed. God help him.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and walked around the front of his truck and into the laundry room, making as much noise as possible, praying she'd hear him and duck into her room or the bathroom, and at least wrap a towel around herself.

“Cassidy?” He said from behind the room door.

Nothing.

“Cassidy?” he said a little louder, this time peering around the door frame.

Still nothing.

He walked into the house and then he heard it.

She was singing in the shower.

Off-key.

Well, hey, there was something Daddy's money couldn't buy—the ability to carry a tune. He liked that flaw in her.

But he didn't
want
to like
any
thing about her.

She hit a high note . . . sort of. A little pitchy, but that wasn't making her give up.

He liked that about her, too.

Hell.

He skirted the door to the hall bath as much as possible, since he had to pass it to get to his room, where he, also, would take a shower.

There was a certain irony to the fact that the two of them would be naked at the same time, but Liam knew the best way to avoid temptation: take the coldest shower known to mankind.

Unfortunately, he could still hear her singing even with the water pounding on his head.

He tried to drown out her voice with soap in his ears, but that key of hers . . . It'd make the hair on his neck stand up if it weren't wet.

So he washed off as quickly as possible, taking a little longer to get all the suds out of his ears, wrapped a towel around his waist, and tossed another one over his shoulder. He'd dry off in the bedroom with the buffer of the bathroom between them.

It was the perfect buffer actually, since he didn't hear one note as he grabbed his boxer briefs from his dresser.

That should have been his clue.

He'd just dried off and tossed the towels onto the bed when he heard a “Titania!” followed by a gasp.

He turned around.

Big mistake.

There stood Cassidy, wrapped in a towel that left her covered her from chest to thigh, but still too naked for his liking, while he . . . he
was
naked.

“Oh shit.”

“I'm sorry.”

“What do you—”

“I should go—”

“Yeah. Good idea.” He reached for the towels and had to half crawl onto the bed to get the damn things. Which gave her more of a show than he wanted.

He looked at her. “You can go, you know.”

“Uh, yes. Right. I will. It's just—”

He sat on the bed and plopped the towel on his groin. “Princess, in case it's escaped your notice, I'm naked.” He fluttered the towel.

“Technically, you're not now, and I think Titania came in here.”

“Is that the best line you can come up with?”

She rolled her eyes. “It's not a line. She ran out of the bathroom and I checked the front of the house. She hasn't mastered your spiral staircase, and since she took that nap in here with me, I thought she might have come in. It would help if you'd closed your door.”

She was right. He should have locked it, too. But it wasn't as if he was used to living with someone, and he'd
thought
he'd closed it.

“Titania,” he called.

There was a scuffling under his bed.

Of course she was here. Which meant more torture for him as Cassidy got down on her hands and knees—kill him now—to peek under the bed. If he were standing in his doorway, he'd be getting one hell of a show.

“Come on, Titania. Get out here.”

The scuffling moved toward the head of his bed.

Of course.

“Titania!” Cassidy slapped the floor. “Come here!”

The dog didn't move.

Liam rolled his eyes. And stood up. And wrapped the towel around his waist.

Keeping his eyes off the rounded curve of what he was sure was a delectable backside with the towel almost hiked over it, he got down beside Cassidy. “Titania. Come.”

The little fur-ball belly-crawled right up to him and licked him on the nose.

He snaked his arm around her and slid her out from under the bed, cradling her like a football.

“Here you go,” he said once they were both back on their feet.

Cassidy took the dog, almost dropping her when her towel started to fall.

Liam went to catch the dog, got a handful of breast, and yanked his hand back as if he'd burned it.

“Uh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—”

“I know.” Cassidy grabbed her towel with the dog teetering on her arm and there was no way in hell Liam was going to help out this time.

He turned around. “Let me know when you're out of the room.”

“Thanks. I will.”

He heard her run from the room and he took a huge breath. That'd been too close.
She'd
been too close. His
hand
had been too close. As the hard-on beneath the towel attested to. And the feeling of her breast in his palm . . . That was going to be a hard thing to forget.

He strode to his closet—towel
securely
wrapped around his waist—and grabbed a T-shirt, the boxer briefs he'd dropped in favor of the towel, and a pair of basketball shorts.

Too bad he didn't choose a suit of armor because, just as he walked by her door on his way to the kitchen, the dog bolted from her room, leaving the door open just enough to see—

Now Cassidy
was
naked.

She held the towel to her chest so he only got a side glimpse of a long, shapely leg, and a butt that, yeah, was delectable. Then there was the tiny waist that he'd had his hands on earlier, plus the added bonus of the curve of her breast, a visual he really didn't need, since his memory was working just fine.

Unfortunately, so was his dick. It went to full mast in two seconds.

“Titania, come back here!” She spun around, clasping the towel to her chest, and headed toward the door—stopping the moment she saw him. “Oh.”

“Yes. Oh.” He looked. He shouldn't, but he couldn't help himself.

“I, uh, need to get dressed.”

“Yes. You do.”

“So, could you, you know . . .” She fluttered her fingers.

Yes. He knew. But the dog was resting on his feet.

So he scooped Houdini up, spun around, and carried the little yipper—though now she was a little licker, lapping up the remnants of his shower off his wrist—out to the kitchen.

He grabbed a container of Gran's beef stew. The little troublemaker was going to eat in style tonight. Just because.

“Oh you don't have to feed her. She already ate.”

A soaked-hair Cassidy came running into the kitchen in a tie-dyed dress that clung to those damn curves of hers way too much for his liking—well, that wasn't exactly true, but the sight was too much for him to take right now.

Then she bent down to pick the dog up and the torture just continued as he got a straight-shot view down her dress.

Seriously, what was he? Eighteen? He should really stop ogling her.

But why the hell couldn't she wear a bra?

Because you didn't happen to pick one of those up while you were grabbing her lingerie.

The pooch's growl was an effective
snap out of it
call to arms.

“I guess the dog has other ideas.”

“She has a name, you know. Titania.”

“I know. I used it, remember? In my room. When I was naked, remember?”

“Look, I said I was sorry. If you'd locked the door, this wouldn't have happened. I didn't know you were home.”

“Hey, don't put this on me. It's my home. I'm entitled to walk around naked if I want.”

“Then why were you all out of sorts when I walked in?”

“Did
you
like it when I walked in on you?” He was sort of hoping she'd say yes to that.

And he'd deal with the
why
to that thought later.

“Look, Liam. I'm sorry. I'm sorry my dog got into your room and I'm sorry I walked in on you. It's not as if I did it on purpose.”

“Then what's with the clothes all over my garage?”

“They're not all over the place. They're in a pile, covered in sawdust. I didn't think you'd appreciate me tracking sawdust through your house.”

She was considerate. That was something he hadn't foreseen. If she ended up having any other nice qualities, he was going to have a hard time ignoring her effect on him. “As long as you clean it up, I can't say anything about it.”