by Judi Fennell
“Aw, come on. You love it. Isn’t that why you got into the business? So you could get all the women?” Liam elbowed him.
Bryan shook his head. “That’s just wrong. The kid was fifteen.”
“Long time to never wash an arm.”
“I signed her T-shirt—the one she’d just bought, not the one she was wearing. What kind of pervert do you take me for?”
Jared shrugged. “Just your average, run-of-the-mill pervert, I guess. What’s the difference?”
Bryan slapped the back of Jared’s baseball cap so it fell over his face. “Watch it, you. I say your name just a little louder and we’ll have a swarm crawling all over you, too.”
Jared’s head turned so quickly the cap spun to the other side. “Don’t you dare, Bry. I don’t need that nightmare.”
Bryan held his hands up and stepped back. “Backing off here. No need to get psycho on me.”
Jared straightened his cap. “You’re all about publicity these days and I get that, but me? I’m all about recovery since the accident. I don’t need cameras and mics in my face asking me how it’s going or when I’ll be back. If I knew, they’d know, you know? I’m so sick of the intrusion into my privacy. Do they think I like having to relearn how to walk? That I want to show up in a stadium in a wheelchair? Or hear what my ex-girlfriend who did this to me is doing these days? Why the hell is any of it news? Can’t they just leave a guy in peace to do his job?”
Bryan looked at Liam. Liam said nothing. He wasn’t on the publicity wheel they were, and seeing their lack of privacy, didn’t want to be.
Cassidy was just as much a publicity magnet as these two. Yet another reason to stay away from the woman.
Not that he could because she was staring at him as they headed toward their seats from yet another poster. Jesus, had her father blown his entire advertising budget at the stadium? Seriously, how many guys coming here for a game were in the market for luxury condos?
Then he was actually in his seat and she was staring at him again. This time from a giant billboard next to the scoreboard, dressed to the hilt in a sparkly nude-colored (good God, why?) outfit. Even when he tried to get away from her, he couldn’t.
“Damn, that’s a gorgeous woman.” Jared got out of his shitty mood long enough to appreciate her.
Yeah, Cassidy could have that effect on a guy.
And damn if it didn’t piss Liam off that Jared had noticed. Jared wasn’t exactly the most monogamous guy—not that he had a harem, but he always had a new woman. Perks of the job, Liam guessed, but Cassidy wasn’t going to be another notch on Jared’s belt.
And not yours either, loverboy.
“Steer clear, Jare,” said Bryan, helping Jared maneuver out of the chair and into a seat. “Woman like that . . . I don’t know if you’ve got enough bank to keep her happy. And if you do, she’s only after it. Not the marrying kind.”
“Who says I’m in the market to get married?” Jared lifted his leg onto another chair. “But she might be the perfect incentive to get back on my feet.”
“On your feet isn’t where you’re planning to be with her.” Bryan picked up a cup. “Lee? Here’s your beer. You look like you could use it. I bet she’s a pain in the ass to work for, right?”
Liam took the beer and let them think that was it. He wasn’t going to tell them about her getting evicted and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let on that she was living with him. And he definitely wasn’t going to mention that little kiss.
And its really big effects.
“I pity the guy who ends up with her.” Bry handed Jared his beer. “We learned to steer clear of daddy’s-girls. Right, Lee?”
Liam chugged half the beer. Why the hell couldn’t Bry let it go? He really didn’t want to have this discussion so he let his beer drinking speak for him.
“See what a hardship it is?” Bry asked. “He’s gotta chug a few after spending the day cleaning her froufrou shit. I bet it’s all pink and lacy, am I right?”
Liam wiped his mouth with his arm. Usually he was right there with the guys, doing guy things and occasionally bordering on being an ass. Tonight, not really. He didn’t want to talk about Cassidy and he didn’t want to talk about Rachel. “What about the place where you’re working, Bry? How’s that going?”
“How? Well, let’s start off with: Beth’s a widow. And a mom. Of five.” He said it as if it were a mantra.
“Five?” Jared choked on his beer. “Who has five kids anymore? Who’d want five kids?”
“You don’t like kids?” Bryan asked him.
Jared shrugged. “I like kids well enough, I guess. But five? That’s a little much.”
“It’s a basketball team.”
Jared picked up a dog and slathered it with ketchup. “It’s not enough for a baseball team, so what’s the point?”
“Hang on. You want nine kids?”
“No. I’m just saying. If you’re going to go for five, what’s another four?” He downed half the dog.
“Uh, a lot more mouths to feed,” said Bryan. “Diapers to buy. College tuitions to pay. Ballgame concession stands to go broke at. I can’t imagine having even one.”
Jared grinned and finished off the dog. “Yeah, but once you get beyond two, it’s just numbers.”
Liam looked at Bryan with new eyes. Bryan said he was never getting married because it was impossible to find someone who could deal with his lifestyle. Apparently that meant he was never having kids, either. Liam hadn’t thought their childhood was that bad, so he was surprised to hear his brother didn’t want to repeat what they’d had. Not the parents-killed-in-a-car-accident thing, but the four of them had been close. And very much loved by Gran. He definitely wanted a family someday. It was a shame Bryan didn’t.
“But a widow, huh?” Jared asked, picking up his next dog. Liam had been wondering how long it’d take him to pick up on that fact. “How long’s she been single?”
“Seriously?” Bryan’s eyebrows almost touched his hairline. “Did you not hear me? I said five kids. Need I say more?”
As long as he wasn’t saying it about Cassidy, Liam was fine with ending the discussion before he did. “So what’s the prognosis, Jared? When’re you gonna be back in the game?”
Jared sucked the inside of his cheek and grimaced. “I have to wear this damn brace awhile longer and do a shitload of rehab. Doc says nine months. I’m planning on it being sooner.”
Bryan chimed in about listening to the doc, which segued to some injury he’d sustained while doing a stunt in Sri Lanka and the lack of medical care, and pretty soon Cassidy was forgotten.
Well, by everyone but Liam.
Liam kept hearing Bryan and his “five kids” and he wondered if Cassidy wanted kids. She’d have to have them to keep the Davenport dynasty alive and well—he could see her father paying his son-in-law for each male heir. Making that heir wouldn’t be a chore for the lucky bastard who got to marry Cassidy.
He wondered what it’d be like to be that guy.
Chapter Twenty-five
CASSIDY was in his bedroom. His closet to be specific. On all fours, if one was getting technical, with her butt covered in stretchy nylon shorts that hiked up over the curve of her cheeks, wiggling as she backed out.
Liam shook his head and raised his eyes heavenward. Seriously? He was a good person. Nice to little old ladies and small children. Helped princesses-in-distress. Walked the occasional purse-candy dog. Why was he subjected to this torture? What in God’s name was she doing in his bedroom in his closet? Honestly, he’d put up with the dust if it meant getting her out of here.
“Come on, Titania! You can’t stay in here. God only knows what you could get into in here.” Cassidy was inching backward on her knees, dragging the little moptop from its hips while the thing held on to . . . one of his boots. So that’s where it’d gotten to.
The dog was trying to pull her legs free while stretching her pink claws down toward the carpet, apparently trying to get a toehold so she
wouldn’t have to give up her prize, little muzzled growls accompanying every shake of her head as the boot jerked after it.
“Titania, no! That’s not yours. Give me that.” Cassidy sat back on her legs, let go of one of the dog’s, but Titania seized the opportunity, hitting the carpet running and managing to undo the past few seconds of forward—backward?—progress.
Cassidy huffed, propped herself back up on all fours, and crawled back into the closet.
He ought to get out now. While he could.
But he needed his truck, so he had to talk to her. “Cassidy.”
Her butt stilled. “Liam?”
“Unless you were expecting some other guy?”
She backed out a lot quicker, this time without the dog. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
“I live here.”
If her father could see her now. If the fiancé-wannabe could see her—
Liam didn’t want to think about the guy her father had chosen for her to marry.
She got to her feet. “I’m sorry I’m in here, but Titania ran back when I let her out of her pen and I was just trying to get her out. I know it’s an opposite sides violation.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Wearing my T-shirt is, too.”
“Um . . .” She flipped her hair off her neck in a sexy move that he had a feeling was designed purposely to get his attention off the question, but which wasn’t going to work on him. And the kicker was, he didn’t think she even realized she was doing it. So far, he hadn’t seen the disingenuous Cassidy he’d expected when he’d first walked into her condo.
Matter of fact, he hadn’t seen any of the Cassidy he’d expected.
“I’m sorry. It was on the shelf in the laundry room and I only have one decent outfit left. If you can call it that.”
“You can do laundry, you know. I have a perfectly good washer and dryer.”
She winced and looked at Titania, who was sitting there, her little tail wagging and bit of leather hanging from the corner of her mouth, looking up at the two of them as if she had a secret.
Liam had a sudden flash of what that secret was. “You don’t know how to do laundry, do you?”
“No.”
He shouldn’t be surprised. The Davenports of the world would have someone do their laundry. “Come on. Get your stuff. I’ll show you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Why? Because you’re going to hand them over to your father’s butler?”
“Valet.”
“Excuse me?”
“His valet. Hendricks. He takes care of the clothing and linens.”
“Of course he does.” Liam didn’t even bother hiding his sarcasm.
Cassidy sighed. “That sounded pretentious, didn’t it?”
Liam headed out of his room—the last place he needed her to be—and prayed she was following him. “Pretentious? No. Unrealistic to the average working man, which I happen to be? Yes. People don’t have butlers and valets.”
“You might be surprised how many do.”
“Sweetheart, nothing’s surprising me these days.”
He was lying, of course. She was surprising him. Every time he turned around.
Like now, for instance. He turned around and she was right behind him. Close enough that his quick turn hadn’t stopped her forward momentum and the next thing he knew, he had Cassidy Davenport plastered up against him.
Her hands were grasping his biceps, her hair was tickling his nose, her scent was taking his legs out, and the rest of her was doing insane things to his insides.
“Liam—”
He practically shoved her into her room. “Stay away from me, Cassidy.” Granted that was a little harsh, but he couldn’t help his reaction. He wanted her so badly he couldn’t bear her touch and keep his sanity. It was one or the other and he was kind of attached to his sanity.
“You’re the one who stopped moving. I was just going to get my laundry. Which you ordered me to do, if you remember.”
“I didn’t order you.”
“‘Come on. Get your stuff. I’ll show you.’ That’s not an order?”
He exhaled. “Okay, so I might have been a bit harsh. The thing is, you do something to me. And I don’t want it. I don’t like it.”
“Bullshit.”
“I—what?”
“Bullshit. Isn’t that what you said to me when I kissed you? You said I knew why I’d done it; well, I say the same thing. You do want it. You do like it. But for some reason you don’t want to pursue it.”
“We aren’t doing this.”
“I gathered that.”
He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. “Look, I am not going to be your boy-toy. Your downtown dude to rub in your father’s face.”
“My—?” She stared at him for a few heartbeats too long and he almost caved. “My downtown dude? Did you really just say that?”
“You can’t deny it.”
“I most certainly can. I am not interested in you.”
“I was there for that kiss.”
“So you’re hot.” She shrugged as she turned away, and Liam wanted to kiss that disinterested look right off her face. “That’s not news. I’m sure you’ve kissed your share of women.”
Right this minute he couldn’t think of a damn one. Cassidy’s Irish was up, and it was a mighty fine look on her.
She picked up the T-shirt she’d been wearing yesterday and tossed it onto her bed. “I told you, it was a spur-of-the moment thing. And just now? The only reason I touched you, the only reason I was even close enough to touch you, is because you stopped walking. I was on my way to get my laundry for this little impromptu home ec. class of yours and you stopped.” She grabbed the denim shorts that he remembered all too well off the chair. “Maybe you did want it and just needed a convenient excuse so you wouldn’t have to shoulder the blame for taking it.”
“You’re crazy.”
“I must be to stay here.” She balled up the shorts.
“You don’t have to.”
“You’re right.” She raised her arm to toss the shorts onto the bed. “I don’t.”
He arched an eyebrow.
She chucked the shorts onto the bed underhanded, then raked her hair off her forehead. “Look, Liam. The place is big, but it’s not that big. Even with the opposite sides rule, we’re going to run into each other. So can we make a pact to not automatically assume that the other one is putting the moves on? That it was an accident and means nothing? Please? Despite what you think, that kiss was one of gratitude. I wasn’t coming on to you. It just happened.”
His ego didn’t like the logical explanation, but for the sake of their living arrangement, he was going to accept it. “That’s fine. Ready for your lesson?”
It depended on what lesson he wanted to give her . . .
Cassidy exhaled. So much for the pact. “Sure.”
She sighed as she hiked the laundry basket onto her hip and followed him to the laundry room. There was something to be said for living in Dad’s world, but hey, if she was cleaning toilets, she surely couldn’t complain about cleaning clothes.
Actually, after Liam got done explaining about separating the clothing and different water temperatures and pre-treatments and bleach and drying temps and speeds, yes, she could complain about it. She should have given her dry cleaner a bigger tip during the holidays.
“So, any questions?” Liam asked, shutting the lid to the washer as the machine kicked on.
“Not about laundry, no. Thanks for showing me how to do it. But I am wondering what you’re doing here. I thought you were working at my old place today.”
“I am. But I got a call that the toolbox I ordered for my truck bed is in and I want to get it installed. So I thought I’d drop you wherever you need to be today first, since you can’t drive Mac’s van, and then I’ll go take care of the truck.”
“I know how to drive a van. Just because I’ve never worked a washing machine doesn’t mean I don’t know how t
o do other things. I’m surprised you trusted me with your truck if you don’t think I can drive a v—”
He put a finger on her lips. “I meant that you’re not insured to drive Mac’s van, so you can’t get behind the wheel. I’m sure you’re fully competent to drive it.” He took the finger away. “So where do you need to go?”
“Actually, nowhere. I’d planned to stay in and clean.”
“All right. If you need anything, give me a call. I’ll be out all day but can swing by if you need me. And I have dinner plans tonight, so I won’t be back until late.”
She wanted to ask with whom but it was none of her business. “That’s fine. I’ll be painting your grandmother’s table. I brought it back here to work on during my downtime. You know, like during loads of laundry?” She was going for teasing and after a couple of seconds, Liam got it.
His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, a look guaranteed to knock the socks right off of her. Well, if she’d been wearing any.
This no-contact thing was going to be harder to adjust to than getting tossed out of her home.
Chapter Twenty-six
LIAM was atop a fourteen-foot ladder cleaning the glass transom over the French doors in Cassidy’s old bedroom when he heard Mitchell Davenport enter the condo. Crap. He didn’t remember anything about not having to be here today.
Liam dug out his phone and brought up the calendar app. Nothing there. He checked his messages. Nothing there either. Hopefully Davenport wasn’t planning to show the place because cleaning supplies were all over the dining room table.
Liam quickly finished the transom he’d been working on—the last one would have to wait. He climbed down the ladder and collapsed it so it rested in front of the doors, then headed toward the dining room to gather his stuff.
“Burton, calm down,” Davenport said as he pulled the cord to open the curtains on one of the million-dollar views the guy was known for, standing there as if he were king of all he surveyed. “Cassidy can play out her little tantrum for as long as she likes, but she’ll be back.”
Liam plastered himself against the wall. Either Davenport hadn’t seen the cleaning supplies or he didn’t care that Liam could hear him. And given that the vacuum cleaner was in the center of the living room where Titania’s pen had been, Liam was going for the latter. Davenport was the kind of guy who had butlers and valets and cleaning people and maybe even someone to wipe his nose for him, so he’d probably gotten used to talking in front of “the help.” Paid them good money to not listen to conversations, too.