What a Woman Wants (A Manley Maids Novel) (16 page)

Sean nodded back.

And then they were alone.

Well, as alone as they could be with eight dogs looking at them expectantly.

Livvy had a funny sensation that’s how she looked at Sean, too. “You didn’t have to do that you know. Volunteer.”

“If that’s what you call it.” Sean removed his palms from the countertop.

The
countertop.

“Sherwood can be a bit of a steamroller.”

He walked around the island. “You think?”

“I don’t really have to go.”

Sean closed the distance between them. “Do you want
to go?”

Hell no she didn’t. She wanted to stay right here and pick up where they left off. “I—”

“You should go.”

“What?” Okay, he obviously wasn’t on the same wavelength as she was when it came to picking back up . . .

“Even
I’ve
heard about the market. It’s a big deal and from what I gathered from that conversation, it could be important to your business. Go. I can hold down the fort here. It’s only one night.”

So many things could happen in a night.

“It’s two nights.” Even more could happen in two nights.

“Okay, that’s fine. I’m a big boy; I can handle a few animals.”

Not
thinking of him and
big
in the same sentence . . .

“Plus, I think it’s a good idea.”

“You do?”

He nodded and reached out to touch her, but then pulled back. “It’ll give us some perspective.”

“Perspective?”

“On what happened earlier.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

He looked at her.

She looked at him.

Was it wrong to want to kiss him? To go back to earlier?

And if so, why?

Ringo started to whine. Yeah, she could relate.

But then Mickey joined in, followed by John, and when Georgia added her high-pitched
yowl
, well, there went
that
moment.

“What’s wrong with them?” Sean stepped away from her, looking as confused as could be.

And he wanted to take care of them? He didn’t look like he was handling this well with her standing right here, let alone doing it on his own.

Of course, she doubted the dogs would be picking up on raging pheromones when she wasn’t here.

Davy stood up on his hind legs and joined in the ensemble, twirling like poodles do. Give him a tutu and he’d be a circus performer.

Livvy had to smile. They wanted her attention. He always did that when she was sad or upset, somehow knowing it’d make her smile. Even the way his tongue drooped out the side of his mouth made him look as if he was smiling.

“Livvy? What do we do?”

She took pity on him and the dogs and knelt down. Instantly, she was inundated with eight wet noses and snuffles of joy. “It’s simple, Sean. They just want some loving.”

S
EAN
could totally relate. And hell, if all it took was a few pitiful whines and some twirling on his toes, he might go that route.

Not.

Livvy was trouble. He’d followed her up those stairs and into her bedroom, then his own, and all the others down that god-awful long hallway and all he could think of was hauling her into one, slamming the door, and finishing what they’d started in the kitchen. God, he wanted her.

And,
God
, he so couldn’t have her.

He needed her to go on this market trip. He
needed perspective. He
needed to be able to think clearly and figure some way out of this mess, and with her around, clear thinking was nonexistent in the haze of sensuality that governed her every move. From the way she slipped those wispy curls over her ear, to the sexy little nibble on the corner of her lip and the way she flounced and bounced and breathed life into every movement she made, even the way she turned her head to accept the slobbery kisses of her dogs, something in Livvy reached out to him, wrapped itself around him, and reeled him in.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked back around the counter.
The
counter.

Christ.

He backed away. He didn’t need any reminders of how she’d looked there, wanting him.

He opened the drawer where he’d found pens and paper on one of his forays through this room for clues. “I’m assuming you’re going to need some baking supplies for tomorrow. Give me a list and I’ll go shopping.” It spoke to his level of frustration—both with the situation and with his pain-in-the-ass libido—that he was willing to not only go shopping, but also write it down in his pictographic shorthand. In his world, writing was second in torture only to reading aloud.

Livvy looked up at him, her gorgeous amber eyes framed by those rust-colored lashes, like a sunflower in the fall.

There he went with the poetry again.

“I do need certain things, but I just wing the other stuff when I get there. Plus, you won’t know which brands, so I’ll have to go with you.”

He almost whined like the dogs. The purpose of making this list was so that she
wouldn’t
have to go with him. Sean exhaled. He just couldn’t win.

S
HOPPING
with Livvy turned out to be a pretty winning experience, surprisingly. The free spirit-ness of being with her was contagious. She was like a ray of sunshine in a dingy world—oh, hell. There he went again.

Sean had to chuckle at himself. Livvy created a perpetual state of
happy
and no one, not even he, was immune, so he ought to just stop fighting it and go along for the ride.

She smiled at everyone, and everyone smiled back. It was a gift, actually, how she could turn someone’s bad mood around as if she were sprinkling pixie dust on them.

Pixie dust
? What the hell happened to his brain? To his vocabulary? He’d never said
pixie dust
in his life, not even to Mac when she’d been a kid. Of course, he hadn’t been the one reading her any bedtime stories where there could have been mention made of pixie dust, and why was he going on about this?

“I was thinking I’d make scones. What flavors do you like?”

Weren’t scones those tasteless flaky things the Brits loved? “Doesn’t matter to me. I’m easy.”

She slid him a look that heated his blood.

“I mean, whatever you want to make is fine with me. What are your best sellers?”

“I don’t have any but—”

“What do you mean you don’t have any best sellers? Livvy, you want to find out what your clientele wants and cater to them. You can’t just make whatever you feel in the mood for. Customers drive your business, and if they can’t get what they want from you, they’ll go elsewhere. Successful businesses tap into customer’s wants and needs, and back it up with excellent service. If you don’t provide what people want, you will have no revenue, and therefore no means to continue the company or your employment with it.”

“I’m not an idiot, Sean. I know how businesses work. How do you think I’ve managed to keep mine running for so long?
And
managed to get the time off to come here for my grandmother’s little whim? Cash flow might be tight, but it’s been flowing. These guys don’t eat grass, you know. I was asking your opinion for personal interest. I wanted to make sure we’d make something you liked, too. And I don’t
have any best sellers because
all
my scones sell well. I make a mean scone.” She raised her chin and stood a little straighter.

And knocked Sean sideways. Metaphorically. She was too tiny to do much damage physically. But otherwise . . .

Was it silly of him to get all warm and fuzzy inside that she’d wanted to make something he liked? That she’d asked because she wanted to do something nice for him? To include him? For too long he’d been running this tightrope of budgets and contingencies and stress and worry and now subterfuge . . .

Her honesty was as refreshing as it was guilt-plaguing. She was going to hate him when she found out.

If she finds out. You could still pull this off, Manley.

“Uh, okay.” He swiped a hand through his hair and kneaded the tight muscles in the back of his neck. Today had been one big lesson in torture and it showed no signs of letting up any time soon.

Then he heard a crash, followed by “Scene!”

Enter his brother, Bryan. The fun just kept piling on. “Hey, Bry.”

“Is that . . . Oh my God. Is that
Bryan Manley
?”

Of
course
Livvy would know who his brother was. Was there a woman on the face of the planet who didn’t? Sean was shocked there wasn’t a harem trailing behind him as usual—though the two kids with him who were kicking the mac-n-cheese boxes they’d knocked over might have something to do with it. No one would expect
the
Bryan Manley to be food shopping with kids in tow. Probably the best cover his brother had ever had in public.

“Yeah, that’s Bry.”

“Bry? That sounds awfully familiar.”

“Because he’s my brother.” No sense in keeping it from her. The truth was bound to come out. He couldn’t be around Bry for more than five minutes before someone snapped a picture and it was on every social media site in under twenty seconds. If he kept it from her, she’d get suspicious.

“So that makes you Sean . . .
Manley
?”

“That’s usually how it works.”

“So you
own
the cleaning service?”

“No, my sister does.”

“Mac is your
sister
? How did you come to work for her?”

He wasn’t going there. “Long story.” He didn’t elaborate, choosing to wait for the conversation to turn back to Bryan. It always did.

“So Bryan Manley is your brother.”

This time, though, it bothered him more than it ever had. “Yes he is. And, yes, he’s single. But he’s not exactly ready to settle down.”

“Wow. Talk about jaded.”

“No. Just used to it.” And he was. He had to remind himself of that fact. And
the fact that Bryan
wasn’t
ready to settle down. Never would be to hear Bry talk.

“Hey, Scene.” Bryan patted him on the back when he walked over. “And you must be Olivia.”

Sean really hated how Livvy blushed. Her blushes should be reserved for him and him alone.

Which was totally irrational.

“Yes, I’m Olivia.”

Olivia?
What the hell happened to
Livvy?

“Bryan! Take us to your leader! We want soda!” The twin boys beside him brandished their lightsabers.

Bryan nudged them aside with a finger. “Watch it, guys. You’ll poke your eye out.” He winked at Livvy.

Winked
.

If they weren’t in a public place, Sean just might punch his brother for being too damn charming. Especially when Livvy blushed again.

“What are you doing here, Bry?”

“We. Want. So. Da!” The lightsabers were now doing circles in the air, complete with mechanized sound effects.

“Guys! Chill! I know your mother didn’t teach you to be rude, so pipe down, will you? We’ll get what your mom said we should get and not a thing more.” Bryan exhaled. “Why do people have kids again?”

Livvy knelt down to the boys’ level. “Guys, you know what you want to try? Put a hard-boiled egg in your favorite cola and wait to see what happens.”

“Why, what happens?” The boys were just as enthralled with Livvy as their grown-up counterparts.

“You’ll have to try it and see. But when you do, you’re going to think twice about ever drinking soda again.”

“Cool! I love soda!”

“Me, too!”

“So can we get some, Bryan? Please? It’s in aisle number twelve.”

Livvy stood up. “How about you guys pick up the display you knocked down with your swords and I’ll talk to Bryan about your soda.”

“Really? You’re cool!”

“Yeah, much cooler than Mom.”

Sean just shook his head. At least he couldn’t blame himself for the effect she had on him; she had it on every member of the male species, young and old alike.

Livvy ruffled one of the twins’ hair. “That’s because she’s your mom. Moms have to be tough, so they can’t be cool. But she loves you, you know.”

“That’s what Bryan says.”

“That’s because she’s the only one who
could
love them,” Bryan muttered.

Sean hid his grin. All in all, it sounded as if Bry had gotten the worse deal of all of them. Sean would take bird droppings and alpaca sperm over sword-fighting eight-year-olds any day.

The boys ran to the end of the aisle to restack the food they’d knocked down.

“Soda’s not on their mother’s list,” said Bryan. “She’s not going to be happy if I come home with it.”

“Trust me. You do that experiment and I guarantee you they’ll never want to drink soda again.”

“Why? What happens?”

“Twenty-four hours will make the eggshells thinner and turn brown. The correlation, of course, being their teeth. It erodes enamel. If you leave the egg in longer, it dissolves the shell. I haven’t had a soda since ninth grade when we did this on the first day. By the last week of class, I was off soda for good.”

“Wow. Beauty and brains. You free for dinner?” Bryan gave her the patented Bryan Manley smolder.

And Sean wanted to give him the Manley Brother back-the-fuck-off punch.

“That’s awfully nice of you to ask, but Sean and I are on a deadline. We can’t have dinner with you.”

And he’d like to kiss
her for including him in the invite.

Especially when Bryan scowled.

“Yeah, Bry. We’ve got plans.” Let his brother make of that what he would.

Then Sean wanted to smack himself. Seriously. How old were they? Twelve? Fighting over a girl . . .

Bry raised an eyebrow. “Plans, huh? Well then. I guess I’ll leave you to ’em. What are they again?”

“Plans.” Bry could
stick
his innuendo.

“I’m baking and Sean’s going to help.”

Sean knew the smirk would be on Bryan’s face before it actually was.

“Don’t.” He held up his hand to stop the dumb-ass question he knew Bry would ask—just because he could—but Bry wasn’t reading the same playbook.

“You’re going to be cooking in the kitchen together?”

He did love Livvy’s blushes, though. Especially since they actually
had
been
cooking
in the kitchen.

“Don’t you have twins to take care of or something?” Sean pointed to where the boys were restacking the boxes, only this time in the shape of a fort. Around themselves.

“Oh, hell.” Bryan sighed. “Nice meeting you, Olivia.” He headed toward the rambunctious pair. “Boys! This isn’t a playground.”

Sean laughed. Bryan sounded like Gran.

“Looks like your brother’s got his hands full. I didn’t know he had kids. Is this his weekend or something?”

That made Sean laugh louder. “Bry? A dad? That’ll be the day.” As in
never
. Bry had been vowing for years he’d never have kids; it really was Karma that he’d gotten the assignment with them. “No. They’re, uh, a friend’s.”

Sean wasn’t too keen on mentioning the poker bet. Livvy had to believe in him as a professional housekeeper. She had to believe that Mac was sending out her best, and he wasn’t going to be the one to burst that bubble.

“Yeah, I can relate. I mean, they’re cute and all, but raising them? So not me.”

She headed off in the opposite direction while Sean replayed what she’d just said. What she’d revealed. He did
want kids some day. When he could provide for them. The way he and his siblings had grown up made him want stability. A home to call his own and the means to pay for it. Which was the reason this business had
to succeed. He had to remember they wanted different things out of life . . .

It ought to be a relief, but instead, it made him sad. For her. What her childhood must have been like growing up. On the outside, it looked great: She’d had the boarding school and Martinson money behind her. But inside it . . . she’d had no one to love her. He’d had just the opposite and he’d been richer for it.

I
T
was late when they got home, even later once he’d helped her feed and water the menagerie. And muck out the stalls.

“Tell me why you want to do this day after day,” he said, dodging the gonad-seeking ram to hang her pitchfork on a hook on the wall that looked more like a trophy case than a place to store farm instruments. Someone had even decorated it with crown molding and other non-barnlike plaques and stuff. Livvy was right; the Martinsons were pretentious.

“All sorts of reasons. The alpaca wool is an investment because of the price it can bring, and the sheep’s wool is our daily bread and butter. Then there’s the milk from the goats and eggs from the fowl. All things I can use or sell.”

“And Reggie?”

She smiled when Reggie snorted at hearing his name. “Reggie is just for companionship. A guy had been trying to sell him for bacon. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“Of course not.”

He could see her being horrified at that and picking up the little pig, cuddling him to her like a baby, crooning that he was safe with her. Her. The woman who didn’t want kids.

She had more maternal instinct than she knew what to do with.

“Plus, I sell off the pullets and lambs for more income. I’d love to keep them all, but it’s not possible. Although, once I sell this place, I can build a bigger barn and keep more of them.”

“Which means more mucking out.”

She shrugged, a stray curl falling over her shoulder to disappear inside her camisole . . .

What was it with her and camisoles? At least she had a shirt on over it this time, but those things hugged her curves in a way that wasn’t fair to the male population.

“Mucking out their stalls is a small price to pay for the companionship, love, and acceptance they give me.”

“Acceptance?”

Livvy tucked that stray curl behind her ear. Again. One of these days he was going to do it for her.

“Animals don’t judge you. If you take care of them, fulfill the promise you made to them, they’ll be your best friends. They even cut you some slack if you fall down on the caregiving so long as you aren’t cruel to them. People could learn a lot from animals.”

There was a century’s worth of pain laced through her words. He propped the pitchfork against the goat’s pen. “Do you want to talk about it?”