by Judi Fennell
Liam nodded and took another chug of his beer, thankful to be off the subject of Cassidy. “The rot on the outside wall. Water wicked through the subpar stucco repair job the last owner made to them.”
“Good thing you didn’t get Mac’s live-in job that I did or you’d never have time for this. Hell, it takes me a whole day just to clean a suite.”
“Yeah, but you’re at the estate, so that’s like getting two birds with one stone.”
Sean had convinced Liam and Bryan to invest with him on a gorgeous estate in the Pocono Mountains to create a luxury resort closer to Philly than the Catskills and more affordable than hightailing it to New York City, DC, or Atlantic City. A great place for high-salaried executives to relax and get away from it all, with a championship golf course, once Sean bought the place from the deceased owner’s estate. Sean had been working on this deal for years, even buying some of the surrounding properties for privacy and possible future expansion. It was Sean’s chance to make his dreams come true, and they had had the extra funds to back him, with the idea that Sean would buy them out some day. Liam didn’t care when; he still had his cash flow, and he liked being involved with his brothers on a project. It was a stroke of luck that Mac had the estate on her client list. It’d been Sean’s the minute they’d lost the bet.
“Yeah, but I’m working my ass off. That place is huge. Mac’s gonna need to hire some more guys once we’re done because I’m definitely going to need the help if—I mean, when—I take over.”
Liam set down the beer. “If?”
“I meant when.”
“But you said if.”
“I meant when.”
Liam looked at him. Sean had a good poker face, but he hadn’t been prepared for Liam to question him. “Spill.”
Sean sighed. “There might be a glitch.”
“How much of a glitch?”
“I’m not sure yet. But I’m going to fix it. I will get that property.”
Liam didn’t push. If there was a “glitch,” it was bigger than Sean wanted to let on, otherwise he wouldn’t have made that slip. Sean had a load on his mind. No use adding to it by pushing him. When he was ready, he’d tell them.
The good thing about being so close with his brothers was that they knew when to back off. Just like Sean had about Cassidy.
“So why are you here if you’re so busy at your place?” Liam picked up the scraper and headed back to the shelves. There was a lot of work to do on this place, and for once, he was grateful there was. It’d keep him out of his house and away from Cassidy.
“I needed a break. I’m starting to talk to myself in those long empty hallways, you know? Wouldn’t mind something else to do. You up for another poker game? We could call Bry.”
“What, the last poker game turned out so well you want a repeat?”
“We won’t invite Mac.”
“Ever again.”
He laughed with Sean, half tempted to share his theory, but . . . why? There was nothing to do about it now except suck it up and finish out the next three weeks.
Or longer if Cassidy couldn’t sell enough of her furniture to move out.
The bet’s ramifications just went on and on.
God help him.
* * *
CASSIDY flipped her safety goggles back into her hair as another set of lights drove past Liam’s house. One more car that wasn’t his.
She shook her head, wincing as the goggles slid onto the bridge of her nose with a clunk. Cockeyed. Seemed to be her natural state of being around Liam these days. One minute he was being all nice and thanking her about his grandmother, the next he was telling her to butt out when she was offering her expertise for free.
Cassidy adjusted the glasses—the rhinestone-studded ones that she’d thought were so cute when she’d been painting on her own but in Liam’s home just felt out of place—and finished sanding the credenza’s wood top. A few passes of the top coat, a couple rounds of buffing, and this thing would look like it had a marble top. Faux finishing had been her specialty, especially trompe l’oeil.
She’d found an antique mirror surround at an estate sale to use that technique on. A magic mirror, she was thinking. Perfect for a little girl’s room. A nice fit for her creative side, and her businesswoman side liked the fact that people typically spared no expense for their kids. Marketing a piece for someone’s daughter upped its odds of being sold and selling well. Marketing was also a talent of hers, one that Dad hadn’t given her credit for unless it came to looking good for the rack brochures and sales pieces.
Cassidy cracked her knuckles, her hand cramping from holding the brush and palette so long, not wanting to think about all the things she couldn’t do right in her father’s eyes. Was it because she was a reminder every single day of the woman who’d cheated on him and left?
She didn’t think it had bothered her father all that much emotionally—aside from the obvious embarrassment at the whole sordid affair being public, that is. And if it had, he’d pretended it hadn’t. He’d shown her how to be strong when Mom had left, but that hadn’t stopped her from curling into a ball in her bed at night, wrapped around her favorite stuffed animal—a plush Maltese puppy she’d named Tinkerbell—and wondering why Mom had left her.
Well there was nothing she could do about being a reminder of her mother—
Speaking of, she’d left the photo and bracelet at the condo.
Ah, the irony. She’d kept those things for years, tucked out of sight, hoping against hope that Mom would come back for her—and then she hadn’t.
She didn’t need the photo anymore, and the bracelet was falling apart. Reminders of the last good time she and Mom had had. The last good time in her life.
Well that was going to change. This was going to be the best time of her life.
A crash came from the mudroom.
Or maybe tomorrow would be the best time of her life.
“Titania!” Cassidy set the sander on the floor and flew into the house, not caring that she was covered in sawdust.
Her dog was covered in just plain dust. She’d somehow managed to knock an electric broom off the wall and it broke apart, poofing a cloud of dust throughout the room. Great. There went all her hard work keeping the place clean.
* * *
TWO hours later, the dust was off every surface in the room, though she was pretty sure it was covering every inch of her. Titania had been banished to the quickly dog-penned bathroom, yapping her cute little dust-covered head off. She really was a dust mop right now and Cassidy had to smile at Liam’s description, though she doubted he’d be smiling if he could see the two of them.
Then again, maybe he would be. Lord knew, the man had surprised her already. He’d let a complete stranger into his home, gave her the keys to his truck, some money, and a job. He hadn’t needed to give her a place to stay. He didn’t owe her anything. He’d known her for all of what? Half an hour? Who did that?
Liam Manley. Some woman was going to get very lucky someday.
For a second, she imagined it was her. That she could live here, with Liam, be a part of his family. Call Mrs. Manley Gran, have a few brothers-in-law, a sister-in-law—hell, make that sister. She’d always wanted a sister.
She’d always wanted a family. And Liam had a ready-made one just waiting for someone to be a part of it.
Was it so wrong to imagine that someone being her?
Chapter Seventeen
OKAY, I’m ready to work.”
Liam dropped the hammer. On his foot.
He hopped around to see the menace of his nightmares standing in the doorway of his new project, looking way too perky and . . . and . . . sunshine-y in her hot orange shorts and bright sunshine yellow top. “You’re what?”
“I’m here to work. I’m wearing my painting clothes so put me to good use.”
Don’t think it, don’t think it, don’t think it.
Too late. Seeing the non-Rachel actions had opened the doors to an image he’d
never thought he’d seen in Cassidy. And after the dreams he’d had of her and him for the past two nights while he’d slept on a pile of drop cloths in front of the fireplace here so he wouldn’t have to go home and be tempted by her, not thinking it wasn’t possible. He was imagining it in all its vivid colors—which were orange and yellow apparently. “What are you talking about?”
Cassidy held up a paint brush and a bunch of what he guessed were rags, though they looked more like someone’s non-ironed handkerchiefs to him. “Paint. Here. With you. This place.”
No no no. Not happening. “Don’t you have some furniture to refinish or something? Dog to walk? Earrings to auction off?” Apartment to find, furniture to sell . . . Something that would get her out of his house sooner rather than later so he could get off this was she/wasn’t she merry-go-round. Painting this place wasn’t going to do that.
“Earrings are listed, house is clean, and I spent the morning repairing and sanding the next pieces I’m going to work on so I have some time on my hands while the dust settles in the garage. And because of it, I can’t paint anything new. Not that I have room for anything new. It’s an obstacle course in there as it is.”
No surprise, given the state of her cabinets in her condo. “So you thought you’d come here and work?”
“Got it in one.” She dazzled him with her smile and Liam had to literally blink the sun spots out of his eyes.
“That’s what you thought?” Painting certainly wasn’t his first thought when it came to her.
“Well, yeah.” For the first time since she arrived, her smile dipped a little. “Don’t you want the help? We’ll get the place ready for sale sooner. My father’s always after people to come in under budget and under deadline. I do know what I’m doing and with two of us working, we can finish that much faster.”
That wasn’t going to happen. Not with her in some ridiculous pair of hot orange shorts that might not be skimpy enough for Daisy Duke but worked just fine—too fine—for him, and a T-shirt covered in—good God—rhinestones.
“Those are painting clothes?” He looked down at his own drab khaki painter’s shorts and the sweat-stained T-shirt that used to be blue. Or maybe green. Hard to tell because it’d faded from all the times he’d washed it. He had a few painting outfits; no sense ruining new clothes, just wash the old ones until they wore out.
“These are all I had, remember?” She tapped the end of the paintbrush to her lips, and Liam tried hard not to stare. Or wonder what they’d taste like. “So what color are you going to do the trim?”
“White.”
“That’ll be a nice offset with hunter green walls.”
“The walls aren’t going to be hunter green.”
“They should be.”
“They’re going to be beige.”
“Beige walls and white trim? Why don’t you just cover everything in plastic while you’re at it and remove any personality from the place?”
“It doesn’t need personality; it needs to be neutral so someone can come in and make it theirs. With their personality.”
“But if you spruce it up, you’ll get more interest.”
“Just how many houses have you sold?”
Her sexy lips thinned into a straight line that she twisted sideways. And even that was a good look on her.
“I’ll have you know that I studied with some of the finest European designers who are on the cutting edge of interior design. People who work at Architectural Digest, who design hotels and luxury penthouses. My father has a whole team to design all the rooms in his buildings, down to each and every knickknack.”
“Those are hotels. They’re supposed to be all done up. People don’t want an empty hotel room.”
“He has condos, too, remember? I used to live in one.”
“And wasn’t that just the homiest place?”
“It wasn’t supposed to be warm. It was supposed to be striking. All that white and glass . . . The place shows well. It’ll sell and it’ll go for big bucks. Because it’s a Mitchell Davenport property and all the standards he’s set for his properties are there, meeting the customer expectations he’s built. You should do that. Make Liam Manley projects have a statement, a certain panache, so people know what they’re getting when they buy something you’ve created. Build a brand for your name and it won’t matter what color you put on the walls as long as it is a color. Not beige.” She actually shuddered.
“Weren’t you wearing beige the other day?”
She cocked her head. “I was?”
Jesus, she didn’t remember? He couldn’t get the image out of his head. “Yeah, your whole outfit was beige. Top, pants, shoes.” The bra he’d seen when she’d bent over in front of him, and probably her damn thong. And God knew, her skin was the same color—every mouth-watering bit he’d glimpsed.
She shrugged. “So what if I was? I’m not a house and we’re not talking about me anyway. I’m designing the furniture with my brand in mind. You should think about yours. What have you done across all of the houses you’ve flipped that’s identifiable to you? That makes the place say it was done by Liam Manley?”
“My name on their check.”
Cassidy rolled her eyes that were still gorgeous even when devoid of makeup. “Do you want to keep doing manual labor until you die, Liam? You have to think of the big picture. Make a name for yourself, for your brand. Then you can teach it to someone else and either sell your business or pass it on to family when you want to retire and still earn income from it. You have to create the need for your products. Give people a reason to seek you out as opposed to finding another place. Make everyone want a Liam Manley property because they are so economical or functional or innovative or something that it’s a real coup for them to own it. Create your niche so people will come to you instead of you having to go out and find clients every time you have something to sell. It’s always better to have a line waiting than echoes of silence when you open the door for business each day.”
“Sounds like you paid attention when Dad spoke.”
She cocked her head and put a hand on her hip. “The guy might be a jerk, but he does know what he’s talking about and you don’t live and work with him without picking up a few things, so don’t patronize me.”
Liam flinched. He had, actually. Hadn’t meant to, but that conversation with Sean still hung in his head, and in all honesty, he’d never thought Cassidy Davenport would have even one iota of a clue about business.
But he did, and he’d been doing this for a while. “I appreciate your offer, Cassidy, but this is my place. I’ll do it in my time, my way.”
Damn if the corners of her mouth didn’t turn down and he’d swear her bottom lip quivered.
“All right, then.” She inhaled and looked him in the eye. “If you don’t want my help . . .”
“I didn’t say that.”
What are you doing? You want to invite her to hang around?
He pinched the bridge of his nose. This was probably the stupidest—okay, second-stupidest—thing he’d ever done. But she wanted to help. How many times had he wanted Rachel to even take an interest in what he did for a living? “Okay, fine. You can help. But the walls are not going to be green.”
She opened her mouth and Liam geared up for a fight.
Instead, she surprised him. “Okay, Liam. Whatever you say.”
He blinked. Really? She was going along with him? Not fighting? Not giving in to tears to get her way?
Liam’s eyes narrowed. She was up to something.
And then she kissed him.
Chapter Eighteen
SHE didn’t mean to do it. Really, she didn’t.
It was just . . . just . . . well . . .
He was giving her a chance. For whatever reasons, Liam was giving her the chance to work with him on something important to him. She was so used to her ideas being pooh-poohed that she’d been expecting him to turn her down flat. When he’d said she could help, well, she was so surprised, so happ
y, that she didn’t really think how she should react.
Jumping into his arms and planting one on his lips probably wasn’t the best choice.
Then he started kissing her back and, yeah, well, maybe it was a good choice. The man was primo.
And, man, could he kiss. If Burton had been able to send her senses into the stratosphere like Liam could, she might not have run from Dad’s ultimatum.
But then she would have missed this.
She would have missed the play of Liam’s lips over hers—almost biting but much softer. Tantalizing enough to send little shocks through her and take out her knees. Then there was the way his large, calloused hands gripped her back and spanned her waist, even dipped down to her butt.
It was as if someone had plugged her into a wall socket. She lit up in flames and all of a sudden, she didn’t care that she was supposed to be thanking him instead of kissing him. There was no way she was stopping.
His lips traveled from hers to just below her jaw near her ear. “Cassidy.”
Yes, that was her name and oh, God, it sounded so good coming from him.
“Cassidy,” he said a little more forcefully, his hot breath fanning the flames a little more as it caressed her skin.
Yes, yes, she wanted to answer, but her breath had disappeared so she couldn’t. She just couldn’t. Besides, why bother talking when they could be kissing instead—
“Cassidy.”
Wait. He was talking. He wasn’t kissing. And he didn’t sound out of breath or have wonder in his voice.
The electricity turned to ice and Cassidy couldn’t move. She’d thrown herself at the guy—literally—and he wanted no parts of her.
Well, okay, his hands hadn’t strayed from her ass, so maybe there were a few parts he wanted, but he didn’t want her. His tone said it all.
Mortification crept through her veins and her knees weakened for a whole other reason. God, the humiliation.
She cleared her throat and pried her fingers from the knot they’d made in his hair as she unwound her leg from his calf—oh God, she’d wound herself around him like a vine—and she stepped back with one painful, legs-about-to-give-out step at a time. “I . . .” She brushed her hair off her face—hair that had escaped her ponytail and gotten all tangled and sweaty from being caught in the heat of their kiss. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that. I—”