What a Woman Gets (15 page)

L
IAM
loaded the last of the cleaning supplies into the back of the work van the next morning. He'd left his truck for Cassidy to use because he'd co-signed the loan for Mac's first company van yesterday—with the condition that he'd be using it the rest of the month. If Cassidy hadn't left by then, well, he'd figure something out.

About a lot of things.

In the meantime, he'd finished the second condo for Davenport, glad to get that out of the way before having to go back on Monday to clean Cassidy's place again.

Not that it'd be a big deal, since no one was living there, but the place wasn't the same without her.

Don't go there. She
will
be leaving your place.

True, but not right away, so he ought to grab a few other things for her when he went on Monday. Things like sweat pants and baggy shirts. Her skimpy little T-shirts and long flowing dresses that probably looked like muumuus on other women but just slid over her curves to tease him weren't helping maintain the comparison to Rachel he was trying to cling to like a lifeline. And if that broke, he'd have no reason not to want her.

He slammed the tailgate a little harder than necessary, but it relieved some of the tension. Thank God his latest property's settlement had closed earlier than expected so he had something to keep himself occupied with instead of having to head home where
she'
d be.

Except she showed up at his property. He shouldn't have mentioned where he'd be.

“Liam?” Cassidy knocked on the front door of the Cape Cod where he was in the middle of stripping the hideous seventies' green paint the previous owner had chosen for some unknown reason off the teak built-in bookcases.

He didn't understand the choices some people made.

Like his opening the door for her. “What are you doing here, Cassidy? Don't you have something to clean?”

“Still grumpy from your interrupted sleep the other night, are you?”

“It was yesterday morning and I'm fine. I'm just busy and wasn't expecting to see you.” Otherwise he would have prepared himself for her. She was making him think things he thought he shouldn't—and made him not care that he did. “Where's the mutt?”

“
Titania
is at home in her pen.”

For a second, Liam imagined the white marble hearth and fireplace that the pampered pooch's gilded cage had sat in front of in her condo, then he realized that she'd meant
his
home. It ought to sound strange for Cassidy to call his place home, but . . . didn't.

She cracked her knuckles, a habit so incongruous to her runway model image that it took him a moment to realize she was still talking. “. . . more wood glue, so I thought I'd run to the store. A few dovetail joints on the drawer of the piece I'm working on are broken.”

“You could always make another side rail to maintain the integrity of the piece.” He was a jack-of-all-trades when it came to construction, but woodworking was his specialty.

“Painting is my area of expertise, not construction. Plus I don't have the right equipment.”

“I do.”

“Are you offering to help?”

Apparently. “If you need it.”

He had to grit his teeth when she put her hand on his bicep. Between the home thing, that outfit, and her touch, the woman was going to kill him.

“Liam, really, you've done more than enough for me. You're busy with this place. I'll get the glue, but um . . .”

She looked too sexy in another tie-dyed T-shirt with an angled hem that someone thought was a good idea, but wasn't for him when the image of sliding his tongue over the skin of her peek-a-boo waist flashed into his head and wouldn't go away. Then she went and tucked her hair behind her ear and he wanted to suck on her earlobe, too.

“I need a few dollars. I promise I'll pay you back.”

He had his wallet in his hand before he thought about it.

So much for learning his lesson with Rachel. In many ways.

“Here you go. And I left my laptop on my bedside table. Feel free to use it to list the earrings. I set up the account for you and linked it to my bank account. We'll work out the logistics after they sell.”

“Oh. Right. The earrings. I'll do it as soon as I set the drawer.” She took the twenty. “Is there anything you need while I'm at the hardware store? More paint stripper or sandpaper or anything?”

A lock for his bedroom door . . . “How is it you know so much about construction and furniture refinishing?” He'd bet those weren't courses in her fancy finishing school.

“My dad's in the construction business, remember? He made sure I knew every aspect of it, since it was apparent he was never going to get that son he'd wanted.”

Surprisingly, Liam didn't hear any sarcasm. She wasn't the kid her father wanted, the man had kicked her out of her home, she had to work for her bed and board for the first time in her privileged life, yet she was considerate enough to ask
him
if he needed anything. Without bitterness. It was getting really hard not to like Cassidy Davenport.

And if she played with her bottom lip one more time, something else was going to get hard.

“No. I'm good. Keep the change. Add it to what you owe me. I'll collect when you sell the earrings. Or your furniture. Whichever comes first.”

And then she could get out of his life so it could get back to normal.

She tapped him on the forearm. Even that turned him on. Dammit.

“Oh, by the way, since you came home so late last night I didn't get a chance to tell you that your grandmother stopped by yesterday.”

He'd been late to make sure he wouldn't see her, after helping his buddy Jared and wearing himself out with a lot of manual labor on the estate where Sean was working off his bet. Lucky bastard didn't have a hot chick staying there with him to drive him nuts. Liam was seriously thinking of camping out there for the rest of the month. “Gran did? Why?”

There she went with playing with her bottom lip again. He'd think it was an affectation, but she'd done it in her sleep on the sofa.

“Actually, I don't know. She didn't say. I introduced myself and we started talking about my furniture, then she wanted to see it, and then she ordered a piece. The end table I'm working on.”

Liam bit back a groan. Gran had been feeling Cassidy out. She made no secret of the fact that she wanted great-grandchildren. But once she'd met Cassidy—learned who she was—she had to have known he wouldn't be interested.

But he
was
. And that was a problem on so many levels.

But Gran didn't need to know about it. It was one thing to be attracted to the woman, but kids were out of the picture. The last thing he'd want would be to have Mitchell Davenport as a father-in-law.

Father-in-la—was he out of his fucking mind? How did he go from Gran stopping by to marrying Cassidy?

“So the glue is for my grandmother's table?”

“Yes, but don't worry, Liam. I do know what I'm doing. The drawer will be fine and it'll be the original piece of wood.”

“With modern glue. You're going to devalue it.”

“I'm fixing a broken piece of furniture and custom painting it. Any intrinsic value from its original state is going to be shot to hell anyway. But the fact that it's a C. Marie original will up its value. And I'm not gouging her, by the way. She wanted the credenza, but I told her it was already sold.”

“But it's not.”

“It'll command a higher price than the end table. I didn't want to have to bargain with your grandmother. I couldn't in good conscience take as much from her as I want for it.”

Liam knew for a fact that Mitchell Davenport's ethics could be rewired to fit whatever circumstances he found himself in, so it was nice to see that Cassidy's ethics were a step up. He'd bet she wouldn't be caught giving a lap dance while she stole the guy's wallet.

Okay, he did
not
need to think about Cassidy giving anyone a lap dance. Including him.

“Thank you for that. I'm sure she would have paid whatever you'd told her you wanted.”

“That's because she's a nice lady.”

“Too nice.”

“I should be offended, but you're right. She
was
being too nice, though I think she might have gotten the wrong idea about us. Or she might be hoping. She wants you married, you know.”

“Yeah. I know.” He scraped a hand across his face. If Gran knew how he was thinking about Cassidy, she'd be dancing for joy.

“But that's because she loves you and wants to see you happy.”

He knew. And it wasn't a discussion he wanted to have with Cassidy of all people. Not in light of recent events. Mitchell Davenport for a father-in-law . . . He must have sniffed too much of the paint stripper. “I hope you didn't feed into her delusion.”

“Feed into—?” Cassidy slammed her hands onto her curvy hips. “What do you take me for? I didn't even tell her who I was so she wouldn't get her hopes up that you'd hit the mother lode.”

“Hit the—?” It was his turn to be offended. “Look, Princess, I'm doing fine on my own. Just because my lifestyle hasn't reached the Baccarat-and-Dom-Perignon echelon yours has doesn't mean I'm not doing well on my own. I don't need a rich woman to take care of me.” And he sure as hell wasn't taking care of anyone else, either. “I make my own way in this world.” And had the vacation home to show for it. No
time
for the vacation, but that was beside the point.

She held her hands up and Liam noticed that the nail on her ring finger on her left hand was broken.

There was a whole bunch of symbolism in that, but Liam wasn't examining it any closer. Cassidy Davenport's love life—or lack thereof—was of no concern to him.

“Whoa, there, mister. You can get off your high horse. I didn't lead her on in any way, and for your information, I didn't even tell her who I was. I said I was Cass Marie, which, technically, isn't a lie, but I didn't think you wanted her to hear you had me staying at your place. Trust me, I know how people get once they learn my last name. I'm tired of dealing with their reactions and misconceptions. You might think living in that high-rise was a treat, but these last few days of not having to worry what I look like or if there's going to be some paparazzo staked out in front of your place waiting to catch a glimpse of me without makeup in ratty clothing”—she held out the frayed hem of this T-shirt—“has been eye-opening. In a good way.”

He really should have checked the clothes before he'd brought them home for her. Cassidy's casual clothing left a lot to be desired—namely, her—and didn't leave much to the imagination. Two things designed to drive him nuts.

“For the first time in my life, I'm able to be me. Who that is, I'm not quite sure yet, but I'm definitely
not
the Cassidy Davenport you see in the papers. It was nice being just some woman in your house to your grandmother.”

Except there'd never been just “some woman” in his house—Gran hadn't even seen Rachel in his home because Liam had made sure to keep those parts of his life separate. He knew Gran wanted the four of them to find matches like she'd had with their grandfather, so he'd been hyper-conscious of
not
having women over until he'd found The One.

It
figured
that Cassidy Davenport was the woman Gran had seen in his place. He knew for a fact that Gran would recognize her no matter what name she'd used because Mitchell had been in grade school with their father, and Gran liked to follow the local-boy-turned-tycoon stories in the press. She used to tell them that they—like Davenport—could do anything they put their mind to. She knew a lot about the guy. And his daughter.

Cassidy had seemed like a spoiled princess living in the gilded tower from Gran's stories. Funny, how he hadn't seen the same thing in Rachel. Or rather, the same wannabe thing. Rachel had downplayed her ambition. He'd thought she'd been real.

Showed what he knew. She'd been all over Mr. Ivy League Frat Boy, trying to pass for a college co-ed, looking for someone with a fatter checkbook and entrée into the world Cassidy inhabited. He'd missed it until it'd been staring him in the face. Or rather, the face of the frat boy motorboating her.

Liam kneaded the back of his neck. Why couldn't Cassidy be what he'd thought she was? “So, great. You've made a sale. Is it enough for you to move out?”

For a second, a hurt look crashed over her face, but she masked it so quickly that he realized she'd had a lot of practice hiding her hurt.

But why would she be hurt that he wanted her out? It wasn't as if this was supposed to be a permanent thing. And sure, she might be enjoying the anonymity at the moment, but no way was she going to trade the high-rises of her world for his Handyman Specials for the long term.
Not
that he was going to ask her to.