Because I Can (Montgomery Manor)

by Tamara Morgan

  Well, at least it wasn’t a disaster yet.

  * * *

  “What have you been working on today?”

  Monty’s arms stiffened around her, transforming their clandestine hug into a death threat. Georgia thought for a second they’d been exposed, one of the gardeners or security guards stumbling upon the room in the summerhouse they’d discovered was perfect for a daily five-minute embrace, but the willful way in which Monty slowly relaxed again put her at ease.

  Apparently, that had been a self-imposed freak out.

  “You don’t do well when people ask you how your day is going, do you?” She didn’t look up from where her head nestled against his shoulder. She liked that shoulder—not just touching it, but talking to it. It was warm and comforting and the perfect height for conversation. “There’s no double meaning, if that’s what you’re afraid of. I’m not a spy for a rival hotel chain, sent here to seduce you into giving up trade secrets.”

  Monty laughed softly, shaking them both. As this was their third hugging adventure so far, they’d reached a nice balance of desire and relaxation. Mostly she just wanted to push him to the wicker couch and kiss him until their lips lost all sensation, but the feeling of his hand running slowly through her hair, catching tangles and pulling stubbornly through, was almost as good.

  If his goal with all this not-exactly-innocent hugging had been to build sexual tension until she thought she could come on willpower alone, it was working.

  “I’m just not used to people caring about what I do,” he said. “Do you really want to hear the answer?”

  The sudden constriction in her chest hurt a thousand times worse than the snarl he tugged with his fingers. It wasn’t his words so much as the way he uttered them, as if no one caring was simply the way of things, a truth so deeply rooted it didn’t even occur to him to question it.

  “Absolutely,” she said. “So much of your job is still a mystery to me.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her, as if trying to make out whether or not she was mocking him, but she must have passed the test, because he placed his chin on the top of her head and answered. “It’s not a mystery. It’s boring.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He took a deep breath that might have been a sigh. “Right now, I’m trying to convince a few other foundations to go in with us on a new foster care project, since the funding is too high for the Montgomery Foundation to bear alone. The goal is to increase post-secondary education options for older kids, the ones transitioning out of care.”

  Georgia nodded, her movements inhibited by the press of her face against his shoulder. “I read about that. College classes and skills training and stuff for teenagers being kicked out of the system before they’re ready, right?”

  “You read about it?”

  “I have the internet. I can type at an impressive twenty words per minute. I know how these things work. It’s a really good idea. How’d you come up with it?”

  “I didn’t. There’s this kid, Thomas Escobar, who brought the issue to my attention a few years ago when he applied to the foundation for help with college tuition. We don’t do scholarships, but something about his story struck me. He has no family, no long-term foster parents, no support network, period. More than money, he just needed someone to believe in him enough to see the whole process through.” He sobered. “I know how it feels to be adrift like that, believing no one cares. As it turns out, thousands of other kids do too.”

  Even though she wanted to ask more questions, probe harder, something about the way he held himself so stiffly had her backing off. This wasn’t just a project for him, the same way Homeward Bound wasn’t just a job for her. “He sounds like a great kid. What other kinds of things do you have to do to get things going?”

  He laughed softly. “Even more boring things, I’m afraid. There’s a lot of groundwork that goes into this sort of thing. Because we’re dealing with higher education and the state care system, my job requires a lot of coordination with politicians and people in positions of power. I basically drop my name and get results. It’s shameful, really.”

  “And what happens once you’re done with this project?”

  “I’m never done.” He sighed and narrowed his eyes again, as if to make sure she was still interested. This man had some serious self-esteem issues if he thought helping kids and name-dropping and political power plays were the stuff of ordinary men. “I started off in education because it seemed like the easiest place to get the most results. But Jake has us funding arts programs now, and I’ve been looking into extending the domestic education work to an international level. You might actually like that one. It would require us to train and commission local craftsmen to build schools in third-world countries—with nail guns and everything.”

  “I like all of them, Monty.”

  He grunted, a sound she interpreted to mean disbelief. “It’s not as glamorous as it sounds. Most of my work is done from behind a desk.”

  “And most of my work is done on my hands and knees. So what?”

  His laughter was far too robust and protracted for the situation—at least, until Georgia realized what she’d just said.

  “Oh, God. That’s not what I meant.” She buried her head even more into the side of his neck, where his pulse leaped and the scent of almonds threatened to overtake her. She should probably make more of an effort to be all dainty and floral-scented herself, but she wouldn’t know where to start. “I just crawl under a lot of sinks, that’s all. Maybe I should go find one right now.”

  “Don’t you dare. I like you out here where I can see you.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead as the hug came to an abrupt end. “And as much as I hate to bore you and run, I have a conference call this afternoon. I should go.”

  A sigh escaped before she could prevent it—as did the look of longing she sent to the wicker couch. It was a good make-out spot. You could tell from the way the flowers on the fabric frolicked, all winding tendrils and unfurling petals.

  “I’m sorry, Georgia.” Monty lifted a finger to her cheek. “I promise we’ll pick back up where we left off. I just need to wait until I have enough time to devote myself to the task.”

  “I know,” she said, and was surprised at how much she believed it. For the first time in her life, she felt it might actually be a possibility—that sex could feel normal, that she might be capable of achieving an orgasm through the traditional avenues.

  It’s because I trust him. The fact that Monty was handsome and strong and willing were nice perks, but those qualities were less important right now than the fact that she genuinely liked this man. He wouldn’t hurt her. He wouldn’t take advantage of her. He wouldn’t promise her anything he didn’t intend to follow through with.

  “You don’t mind that I’m making you wait?” he asked. “I feel like the least attentive secret lover of all time.”

  “Of course I don’t mind, Monty. I’ve got other shit I should be working on too.” His eyebrows rose at her crude language but she just shrugged. “I told you—there’s a reason I’ve never managed to pull off that whole ‘girlfriend’ thing. I can’t even muster up a jealous, clinging need to be by a man’s side at all hours of the day and night. I’m the worst.”

  “The absolute worst,” he confirmed, but there was something about the way he looked back through the doorway—as if she were the beams holding the summerhouse roof aloft—that made her feel like the absolute best. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the build site?”

  “I’m never anywhere else,” she said, and waved him off. In fact, she was headed there right now. A few hours of stapling would do wonders for working off her sexual frustration.

  And for helping her catch up—but she wasn’t going to admit that part out loud.

  Chapter Twelve

  Monty wasn
’t sure when he became aware of the tension on Georgia’s job site, but it was probably a good three hours after he arrived.

  As a general rule, he wasn’t great at picking up on the moods and tempers of those around him. His default assumption was that people weren’t enjoying themselves—which often turned out to be the case—so he operated in a kind of emergency mode by default. Head down, keep conversation to a minimum, eyes on the prize.

  So even though he started out the morning taping off the windows somewhat amicably next to one of his hey-I-bought-you-a-beer friends, he failed to notice when the cheerful shouts of the rest of the crew became subdued. At least, he failed to notice right away. But when Adam picked up a roller and began slapping paint on the living room wall next to him without a single snide comment, he realized something was amiss.

  Adam had grunted when he’d seen Monty pull up in his Lexus. He’d grunted even louder when Georgia winked at him. And the noise he’d made when he caught Monty watching her hand out the day’s assignments barely qualified as a human sound.

  That last one hadn’t been his fault. Watching Georgia bark out orders had to be one of the sexiest things he’d ever seen. Tough and callused and determined, everything about her should have been off-putting to a man accustomed to the opposite.

  But he knew. He knew how smooth her skin was underneath those stiff coveralls, how pliable she became when his mouth touched hers, how her velvety voice turned liquid when she was aroused. Harboring that knowledge felt like carrying secret missives to the king or bearing a hidden treasure map in a tattoo on his back. No one else realized that when they shook her weathered hand, they were touching something precious.

  “What’s going on?” Monty asked when Adam actually stood politely by and let him pour more of the paint into the tray. He was half-afraid he had a Kick Me sign on his back, or that Adam had covert plans to paint him from head to toe in Sandstone 0554. “Did I miss something?”

  Adam firmed his mouth and shook his head. In any other man, that show of submissiveness would have been a welcome change of pace. In a relative of Georgia’s, that show of submissiveness made him nervous.

  “Did Georgia tell you to be nice to me again? You don’t have to take her so literally. I can handle myself.”

  “Dip the roller in the paint and put it on the wall. It’s not complicated.”

  “Is this about the other night?”

  “Would you stop talking and get to work? Sigh.” Even Adam’s frustration had its own word. “I think I preferred it when you stood around and stared at me. We need to look industrious for the next few hours. Georgia’s out there getting ripped a new one by her project manager.”

  “She’s what?”

  “Getting ripped a new one. Figurative for tearing open a second asshole. Literal for being screamed at by a dickwad who’s never lifted a hammer a day in his life. Now move, would you? You’re getting paint all over the drop cloth.”

  Monty went back to standing around and staring. How could a man who’d threatened to murder him if he made his little sister cry be so blithe about the literal and figurative act of creating ancillary bodily orifices?

  Adam lifted his hand in an obvious up and down movement. “Like this. Paint. Wall. Pretty. See how it works?”

  Monty shook his head and dropped his paint things instead. The large front window to the house had been propped open to allow for ventilation, and he made his way over there now, hoping to find that Adam had exaggerated in this, as in all things.

  He hadn’t.

  Georgia stood some distance off, a clipboard in hand, staring into the face of a man who was waving furiously around him. Monty strained to catch some of the words flying out of the man’s mouth, but the sound of tiles being cut screeched from the kitchen, making it impossible.

  He turned back to Adam with a frown. “What’s he so mad about?”

  “Productivity, I imagine. This house was supposed to be done weeks ago.”

  “And she’s going to stand there and let him yell?”

  Adam shrugged. “She probably feels it’s warranted. She’s been worrying about being behind for months.”

  Although the sight of Georgia being reprimanded got Monty’s blood boiling in ways he typically reserved for his own father’s strictures, it was Adam’s blasé comment that almost pushed him over the edge. “I don’t understand. That’s all you have to say?” He wiped his hands on the cloth he’d tucked into his back pocket. “Clearly, there’s been a miscommunication somewhere if he feels he can treat a volunteer like that. She’s subject to weather and staffing restrictions like anyone else. One of us should explain—”

  Adam laughed outright. “You go right ahead, Montgomery. I dare you.”

  “What are we daring him to do?” Danny pushed his way through the hanging plastic separating the rooms, lengths of white molding in hand. “I want in. You guys are having all the fun in here.”

  “Hey, Danny. You’re just in time. Mr. High and Mighty here thinks he ought to go bail Georgia out by speaking to her boss on her behalf.”

  “Oh, dude. No.” Danny dropped the molding with a clatter. “Just no. I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  “I’m not going to say anything bad.” Monty couldn’t understand. Not only were Adam and Danny clearly unconcerned with their sister’s well-being, but they were laughing at him. This was the Testosterone Trio? These were the men who cared about Georgia so much they’d protect her against any man who dared to hurt her? “Getting bureaucratic middlemen to fall in line is what I do for a living.”

  “Yeah, but Georgia—”

  Adam slapped a hand in the middle of his brother’s chest. “You heard him. He’s an expert at bureaucratic middlemen. He can smooth things over in a second.”

  Danny clamped his mouth shut, though he retained some of the worry around the lines of his eyes. As if they were all connected by an invisible umbilicus, Charlie also chose that moment to enter the room, a hammer in hand and his eyes wide.

  “Did you guys hear some of the stuff that man is accusing Georgia of?” He let out a low whistle. “I haven’t heard someone in a suit swear like that since the time Adam ran his car into a field of dairy cows. Remember how close you came to hitting that Guernsey?”

  “Oh, please. That wasn’t my fault. You were the one who grabbed the wheel from me.”

  “Yeah, because you weren’t paying attention to the road—”

  With a grunt of irritation, Monty turned and walked away. He didn’t care to stick around to listen to how narrowly Adam missed charges of cow-slaughter, or to hear another stricture on the wisdom of abandoning Georgia to get ripped a new one all by herself out there. Maybe they thought it was funny to watch their sister being treated like garbage—maybe that was the cause of her low sense of personal value in the first place—but he wasn’t about to stand there with his head down and a paint roller in hand.

  “What’s his problem?” he heard Charlie ask as he stormed through the plastic barrier.

  He didn’t hear the answer, but the sound of three men chortling at his back was one he wouldn’t soon forget.

  Nor would he forget that Georgia’s brothers weren’t the only crew members to abandon their leader in her time of need. Although he’d seen Georgia forcibly send one man home to care for his sick dog and provide breakfast for the rest out of her own pocket that morning, every head within sight was bent to its work, eyes trained as far away from her as possible. Not a single man or woman on the site—all of them volunteers like her—was willing to stand up on her behalf.

  The man’s yelling hadn’t abated any in the time it took Monty to stalk across the yard, and he overheard snippets about “misrepresenting her skill set” and “continued failure to meet unit goals.” Both of those were enough to ensure him that this man was a terrible leader. Motivation, not castigation,
was how you got results when dealing with people who weren’t being paid for their time. It was Philanthropy 101.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Monty said as he approached the duo. He tried to keep his voice level, but it was difficult when he was swirling with so many emotions at once. This would normally be the time when he’d keep his mouth shut and wait for a moment of privacy to work through things on his own, but he felt no such compulsion today.

  He wanted to storm and rage. He wanted to put this man in a sandwich board and nailgun him to the wall.

  “Who are you? I don’t recall seeing you here before.” The man flicked his gaze over Monty with a dismissing grunt before returning to berate Georgia. He looked to be in his forties and as if he spent as much time as Monty behind a desk, though with much less diligence to the treadmill during his lunch hour. “And that’s another thing, Ms. Lennox. I’m not at all convinced you’re getting the proper clearance and liability forms for these new volunteers. You know each one has to complete a background check first, right?”

  Monty cleared his throat.

  This time, the man gave Monty his full attention, his beady eyes snapping. “Do you need something?”

  “Yes, actually, I do. I’d like your name and the name of your supervisor.”

  The man’s brows came together in a crack across his forehead. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

  “You wouldn’t, would you? That’s because you didn’t give me a chance to introduce myself. I’m John.” He extended his hand, covered in dried paint splatters and firm with tension. “John Montgomery.”

  The man stared at his hand for a full twenty seconds before he shot his own out and manacled Monty with his strong grip. He didn’t let go right away either, his pumping movements enthusiastic to the point of pain. It was all the confirmation Monty needed to know his name-dropping had its intended effect.