What a Woman Gets

by Judi Fennell

  “Bullshit.”

  “I—what?”

  “Bullshit. You know exactly why you did that.”

  Well, yeah, she did. She found the guy incredibly attractive and she hadn’t been thinking; she’d been reacting. “I . . . do?”

  “Look, I’m not some puppy dog hanger-on your father lined up for you to marry. I’m not some guy you can drag around by my dick. I don’t do women like you.”

  “Women like . . . like me?”

  “Yeah.” He took the final step that put him out of arm’s reach and raked both hands through his hair. “Jesus. I give an inch and you take a highway. When am I going to learn my fucking lesson?”

  Something wasn’t computing here, but Cassidy was still trying to slow her heart rate and figure out what the hell he’d meant by women like you. What did that mean?

  “This isn’t going to work, Cassidy. You need to go home.”

  Home. That was the problem; she didn’t have one.

  “Why? Afraid you can’t resist my charms?” She let sarcasm cover her humiliation. She’d never thought he’d be repelled by her—whatever type of woman she was. It’d never happened before. She’d always been the one to pull back because she’d never been sure what a guy had wanted from her.

  “It’s no secret I’m attracted to you.”

  That answered that question.

  “A man would have to be dead not to be.”

  She didn’t think that was a compliment.

  “But I’m not looking for complications in my life. I’m not looking for a woman.”

  “Whoa. Hold on there, Casanova. If you think I did that to try to rope you in or something, you have another thing coming. That was gratitude. Thanking you for letting me work with you on this. Don’t go blowing it out of proportion.” That was her story and she was sticking to it.

  She did, however, cross her fingers behind her back.

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “Really.”

  She raised her chin. If he hadn’t been out of control during their kiss, she sure as hell wasn’t about to admit she had. The less he knew of the attraction he held for her, the better.

  “Okay, fine,” he said. “I misinterpreted your leg wrapped around me and the death grip you had on my hair, not to mention your tongue sweeping every part of my mouth.”

  Damn him. Her cheeks flamed, but Cassidy hadn’t stared down haughty ambassadors’ daughters at her boarding school for nothing. “I can control myself, you know. It’s not as if you’re God’s gift to women, Liam. So I kissed you. Okay, so I got carried away. It’s no big deal.”

  She was lying to his face but she wasn’t lying to herself. The man was prime. And perfect. And if the visual wasn’t proof enough, the way he sent her hormones into orbit was. But she wasn’t going to pander to his ego, nor was she going to let him think he was her be-all.

  Is he?

  Oh, for God’s sake. It was just a kiss.

  Uh huh.

  “But you weren’t exactly pushing me away, either. I distinctly felt your hands on my ass.”

  He clenched his hands and his lips tightened. Yeah, he remembered.

  “So are we going to do this or are you going to get your boxers in a twist and kick me out because you can’t resist me?” She went for the challenge, and stuck her hands on her hips for good measure—and to remind her legs not to buckle.

  Was it her imagination or did she see a flicker of something—dare she think it was admiration—as he stared at her?

  “Fine. You can stay. But there are ground rules. You stay on your side and I stay on mine and if there’s any meeting in the middle, there’s no contact. Agreed?”

  “Wow, after that romantic statement, how do you expect me to stay away?”

  He sighed. “Yes or no?”

  “Yes. Of course. It’s not like I can’t live without kissing you again.” Though the thought did thud in her stomach a bit.

  “And that holds true for back at the house, too.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Liam. I’ll stick to my side of everything, especially the side that has my bedroom.” She tossed her head to get the damp hair off her cheek. She needed no reminders that they’d been lip-locked not a minute ago—and that it’d be the only time she’d ever have that with Liam. Which was a damn shame.

  “So.” She picked up her paint brush from where she’d dropped it for that lip-lock-that-wasn’t-happening-again and tucked it behind her ear. “Shall I start on the trim?”

  He studied her for a minute and looked like he wanted to say something, but instead, gnawed on the inside of his cheek for a second. “I was planning to do the trim after the shelves.”

  “Okay. I can help with those.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Didn’t we just discuss opposite sides?”

  “So? Opposite sides of the shelves.”

  If she wasn’t mistaken, he swallowed a groan. But she wasn’t mistaken about the heavy sigh he made no attempt to hide.

  “Cassidy.”

  She held up her hands. “I get it. Distance. Because I’m so irresistible you can’t help yourself.”

  “Oh I’m resisting a lot right now. And I don’t mean about kissing you.”

  Damn. That actually hurt.

  He raked a hand through his hair and kneaded the back of his neck. So maybe this hadn’t been the best idea. She ought to go.

  But that would be admitting to more than a gratitude kiss. For all her big words, if she walked out, he’d know that it’d been about more than just gratitude.

  She picked up a can of paint. “Okay, Liam. Looks like the trim’s going to get done sooner rather than later. I’ll start over here. On the opposite side of the room.”

  How ironic was it that the one man she did want was the one man who didn’t want her?

  Her father would call it poetic justice.

  Well, she deserved more than he wanted for her, be it Liam, her art, or her independence, and she was going to get what she deserved.

  Chapter Nineteen

  TWO torturous hours later, he and Cassidy had made little progress.

  Well, he’d made little progress. Cassidy had gotten much more done because she was obviously taking his opposite sides edict literally. Her gaze hadn’t strayed even once in his direction.

  It was stupid that that bothered him, but every time he turned around, she was in some pose that punched him in the gut. The last one had been a doozy: she’d been bent over the top of the ladder putting painter’s tape around the edge of the trim, giving him the perfect view of her butt. The one he’d had his hands on. His palms still felt the curve and softness. If he had to spend even another second staring at her butt, he’d go nuts.

  Which, of course, was the universe’s code for Make-Cassidy-Bend-Over-In-Front-Of-Him-On-The-Ladder-Again, thereby putting her butt at eye level once more when he went for another gallon of paint.

  He looked heavenward. Seriously?

  “Liam? Can you come over here for a second?”

  Not a chance in hell. “Why?”

  She tossed her ponytail over her shoulder and looked back at him. An escaped curl got caught on her nose and she blew it out of the way.

  The move also went straight to his gut because he could completely imagine her doing the same thing after being bent over him like that—

  “Hello? Because I need help?” She pointedly looked at the blue painter’s tape that had come unstuck and the dribble of white paint on the wall below it. “I could use a wet rag before the paint dries. Unless you’re just going to stand there and stare?”

  Standing here staring definitely had a lot to recommend it. Which was the reason he got moving.

  Twelve seconds, six deep breaths, and one wet rag later, Liam was trying to figure out the safest way to get it to her without having to go anywhere near her.

  “Liam?” She nailed him with her gorgeous green eyes. “Any day now. Unless you want the wall to be white, too?”

  “I’m sure you’d take issue
with that color as well.”

  “As you could see from my condo, white isn’t a color any more than beige is. It’s a backdrop. Now, yes or no to the white wall?”

  “Hang on.” She was a bossy thing. And, surprisingly, on her, he liked it. Better than being a covert manipulator like his last girlfriend.

  Cassidy is not your girlfriend.

  “Here.” He practically threw the rag at her.

  “Seriously?” She looked where the rag landed on the bottom rung and rattled the paint tray and brush she was holding. “Which hand was I supposed to catch that with? I mean, I know we’ll be violating the opposite side of the room thing, but I’m thinking dripping paint supersedes that.”

  Dammit. She was right and he hated that she was almost as much as he hated that he was going to have to stand behind her on the ladder to wipe the paint off.

  He climbed up, trying to keep as much air space between them as possible. The problem was, her scent filled that space. Something floral and female; it’d been tough to resist from the other side of the room, but up close and personal? She was killing him. He should have driven her to a hotel, paid for a month, and left her there. He hadn’t had a moment’s peace since moving her in to his house.

  “Yoo hoo, Liam.”

  Right. He mentally shook his head to clear it. Christ, he wasn’t some teenager with his first crush. So he was attracted to her. That didn’t mean it had to go anywhere. He was a grown man; he could control his urges.

  But the one he had as he leaned over her to clean up the drip . . .

  It took two passes with the rag to wipe off the paint, then Liam was down that ladder and out of temptation’s way before he took another breath.

  “Thank you,” she said, her breathing sounding perfectly normal.

  Liam strove for the same thing when he said, “No problem.”

  Total lie. Huge problem. That kiss was sitting right there between them and he’d wanted to take up right where they’d left off.

  “If you say so,” she mumbled. “So you’re still set on this beige non-color?”

  Yeah, focus on the paint. On what they were doing here. Not what he wanted to be doing here. “Better than hunter green, given your little accident, sweetheart.” He walked back to his side of the room, which wasn’t far enough away from her, but was as far as he could get, that sweetheart comment sticking in his head. It’d slipped from his lips way too easily.

  “So what color are the shelves going to be? Also beige?”

  He chuckled. Couldn’t help himself. Especially when he saw the mischievous twinkle in her eye that said she was teasing him.

  If only she knew in how many ways.

  He needed to get a grip. “No. They’ll be stained mahogany to match the floor.” Liam took a deep breath. Shop talk was the perfect way to get his head back into the project where it needed to be and off her.

  “I still think you should use cherry. It goes with the house so much better.”

  “Mahogany is a perfectly fine color, Cassidy.”

  “Okay, but if you’re still stuck on the whole beige thing, cherry would offset the black mortar around the fireplace really nicely. Much better than mahogany.”

  “I’m not going with black mortar.”

  “You should.” She tapped her lips with the end of her paintbrush. “It’d look great.”

  He looked at the fireplace, focusing on it instead of her lips. The ones he’d kissed.

  Black mortar. The woman was right. That would look nice.

  And with a property this small, dark mahogany floors and shelving would make the place seem smaller. Plus, he had enough cherry stain left over from another job, so the cost would actually be less.

  Hmmm. She’d said she’d studied design; maybe she did know what she was talking about after all.

  “So, Cassidy.” He put the kiss behind him and thought carefully about what he was about to say. She might drive him nuts physically, but business-wise, she made sense. That discussion about branding and bringing clients to him rather than having to reinvent the wheel made sense. “If I do elect to go with a cherry floor, what would you suggest for these shelves?”

  “Well . . .” Cassidy descended the ladder with all her eighty-gazillion inches of leg, and Liam had to remember to breathe the entire time she climbed down. “If I were you, I’d go with a custom paint job on the shelves. Maybe autumn leaves or a padded-leather look that’ll go with the house. Play into its character.”

  And again, it was a good idea. It was only paint after all, not the commitment of wallpaper or architectural elements that a prospective buyer could take issue with.

  “So . . . if we do this, we’ll barter room and board for your design expertise? I don’t have the money in my budget for extras like knickknacks or things, and we’re not talking furniture. We’re talking design. The color on the walls, the stain, the trim, the shelves. Does that work for you?”

  “Work for me? Absolutely.”

  Her smile was worth the offer alone.

  Get a grip, Manley. She’s just a woman. A pretty one, but still . . . Let’s not forget Rachel.

  God, he sounded jaded. He’d never realized it until right now. He’d judged Cassidy on his preconceptions, and if her father hadn’t kicked her out, he’d still be thinking them.

  It wasn’t a moment Liam was proud of.

  It was also the moment he realized that he was painting her with the same brush Rachel had waved around like a banner.

  “Bartering will help me pay you off quicker.”

  That idea no longer held the appeal it used to. “Okay, so we do the walls and trim, then you can think about what you want to do for the shelves, and we’ll go from there. Sound good?”

  * * *

  CASSIDY made sure not to jump off the ladder and fling herself into Liam’s arms this time. They’d worked past the kiss and gotten to the point where he was hearing what she was saying. She didn’t want to jeopardize that.

  “That works.” She tried to keep the emotion out of her voice. He was giving her a shot and putting his trust in her vision. It might not seem like a big deal to anyone else, but being taken on her own merit, her own idea, was huge. All her life, things had come to her because of who she was. Liam didn’t have to do this. He’d actually fought her on it until he’d taken the time to listen.

  No one had really listened to her before.

  The fact that Liam had, that he valued what she had to say . . . That opened a can of worms.

  Because while her father’s eviction made her angry and determined to prove him wrong, Liam’s respect made her worried that she wouldn’t prove him right.

  Chapter Twenty

  HELLO, dear.” Mrs. Manley stood on the front porch the next morning with a genuine smile on her face and a plate of cookies in her hand. Liam was off to work on some issue with the steps, so Cassidy let her in.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Manley. It’s nice to see you again.” Except for the fact that Cassidy was wearing a pair of cut-off shorts made out of an old pair of Liam’s sweatpants and one of the drabbest T-shirts she’d ever seen that she’d found in the old chest of drawers in his garage where he stored dust rags and drop cloths. It was better than her remaining wardrobe choices, the best of which was a ridiculous pair of studded jean shorts and a cotton shirt that tied beneath her breasts. Daisy Duke or male grunge? That the latter was the better pick said a lot about her wardrobe. She should have taken a few of her real outfits, Dad’s edict be dammed.

  “I haven’t come at a bad time, have I?” Mrs. Manley looked almost hopeful at the question.

  “Liam’s on a job, but of course you’re welcome to come in.” Cassidy toed Titania out of the way. The Maltese was sitting smack dab in the center of the foyer as if she owned the place. Cassidy had told her more than once not to get too comfortable.

  “I can only stay for a minute.” The woman came in and headed to the kitchen, placing the cookies on the breakfast table, not looking as if she was only
staying a minute. “I was in the area and thought I’d see how my little table was coming. I’m not pushing, mind you. It’s just that I’m so thrilled I can hardly wait. I’ve had the maintenance workers at my facility move my chair into place and polish the lamp Bryan bought me. The sun hits the spot just right in the morning. It’ll be perfect to read the paper while I have my coffee.”

  “Oh, would you like a cup?” Cassidy wasn’t a coffee drinker, which was why the pot wasn’t going, but Liam had one of those single-cup makers and an assortment of coffees in his pantry.

  “I’d love some. Liam keeps a coffee maker here for me. Such a thoughtful man. He even bought different flavors for me to have an assortment to choose from.”

  “Well then, let me make you a cup.” Cassidy brought out a selection from the pantry and prayed she could figure out the coffeepot, since she’d never actually made coffee.

  “Your dog is awfully cute.” Mrs. Manley sat at Liam’s kitchen table and patted her lap for Titania to jump onto it.

  “Thanks. Titania’s a great dog.”

  “I never had a dog when the kids were growing up. One more mouth to feed. One more thing to clean up after. Four young children at my age, and having lost my son . . . It was a bit much.”

  “I can’t imagine how you did it. The thought of one child terrifies me.” But not for the reasons Mrs. Manley would think. Half the reason she’d bought Titania was to see if she could care for another living being. (The other half might have been to give her father agita.) But dogs were different than children, and while Titania was a success story, Cassidy didn’t harbor any thoughts that a child would be as easy. Titania required two meals a day, a patch of grass, and some loving—none of the psychological, esteem-building sort of caring that kids did. The sort of caring Cassidy had been sorely lacking.