What a Woman Gets (17 page)

O
KAY
,
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.

S
HE
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 happy, 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—”

“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.