And was that what he thought it was in front of the sideboard? Oh, God, it was. At least the duck had dropped that little “gift” on the marble, not the carpet—not that the goats would care.
“Oh, no!” Livvy’s distress call was weaker than the one he wanted to utter.
The furniture was going to have to be re-upholstered, and if that llama scratched its ridiculous neck on that cabinet one more time, it’d knock it over. And forget about the goats. The rug was a write-off in all of fifteen seconds.
He turned around just in time to see the rest of Noah’s ark waddle through the doors. Including a pig.
A pig. Who the hell had a pig?
Well that was a no-brainer. Obviously it was the woman around whom the hounds—okay, goats—of Hell were congregating.
“Rhett, stop that!” Livvy yelled, swatting at the llama. Rhett. It figured. “Dodger, get off that settee right this minute!” The goat looked up from the fringed pillow it was denuding with a flicker of its eyelashes, then went right back to munching. “Calliope! No! Outside! Outside!”
Yeah, Calliope the goose wasn’t paying attention. Or didn’t care.
Not that it mattered anymore. The rug was toast.
Livvy ran onto the rug, shooing and kicking, her skirt flouncing all over the place.
The animals just dodged her and found something else to ruin.
Sean looked from the chaos to the ladder on the patio, and quickly came up with a plan.
He ran outside, bypassing the ram that tried to nail him in the nuts, then dragged two wrought iron settees across the porch and butted the sides against the house. Then he maneuvered the ladder cart up against them and stuffed the cushions into the escape holes, creating a makeshift corral. All he had to do was get the Pied Piper to lead them out.
“Livvy! This way,” he yelled over the chorus of squeaks, honks, and brays.
Livvy flipped a swath of curls out of her face when she peeked over the back of the llama she was pushing and relief shone in her smile. “Good idea.”
One by one, she shooed, hustled, or carried the animals through the French doors. Sean then closed them and barricaded them with his body to keep the hellions from running back in.
It took a good ten minutes, and more of the Aubusson rug than could ever be repaired, but all of the creatures were soon ensconced in the improvised pen.
Livvy leaned against the door next to him, her curves heaving way too much for his liking.
Well, no, that wasn’t exactly true. He definitely liked. But he definitely didn’t need to be liking.
“Thanks,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “I don’t know what came over them. They’re normally fine in the house.”
“You let them in your house?”
“Well, not as a general rule. But when my barn was leaking during a hurricane, I didn’t really have a choice. Other than the necessary, um, calls of nature, they behaved quite well.”
“Yeah, well, looks like they forgot their manners today. And what gives with the menagerie?”
“They’re my pets.”
“They’re barnyard animals, not pets.”
“Why can’t barnyard animals be pets?”
“You want me to agree that having a pig is like having a dog?”
“Actually, Reggie’s more like a cat than a dog.”
Sean gritted his teeth. “Same difference.”
“Not a cat lover, I see.”
“I’m more of a dog person.”
“Good. The dogs will be here soon.”
More insanity? “Lucky me.”
“Look, Pool Boy.” She poked him in his side and it hurt, dammit. “It’s my house and they’re my animals. Live with it.”
“Did you see what they did to that room? Is that how you want to live? Your ancestors didn’t build a barn out there for nothing, you know.”
“Leave my ancestors out of this. I don’t care what they did, or what they want. It’s my place now and if I want the goats to have a playground in the reception room, it’s no business of yours.”
“You can’t honestly say that you’re going to allow those animals to destroy all that antique furniture.”
“Why do you care?”
“I care because . . .” Uh, yeah, good question. What was his answer going to be? “Because it’s my job to take care of this place. I just finished cleaning that room, you know. Now it’s a disaster.”
She closed her eyes, shaking her head. When she opened them, Sean saw a hint of laughter sparkling in those amber eyes. “Sean, Sean, Sean. You really need to lighten up. It’s just stuff. They’ve been cooped up in a truck for hours. If the barn were empty, they could’ve unwound out there, but someone stuck a load of boxes and furniture in there. I didn’t have any other place for them to go without them eating all the grass.”
“And tell me again why heirloom rugs are better for their digestion than grass? I thought grass was organic?”
“It would be if it wasn’t soaked in enough chemicals to make the lawn golf course–worthy.”
Exactly. That lawn was gorgeous. It wouldn’t take much to turn it into an ideal fairway.
“So what are you going to do with them now?”
She twisted those pretty heart-shaped lips to one side and Sean wondered what they’d feel like against his. What they’d taste like—
Yeah, yeah, mind off the pretty and heart-shaped thing. And he could forget about kissing her. She was the enemy.
As was the pig that was trying to nuzzle between the two of them, the jingle bells on his collar sounding like a drunken Santa.
“I have to empty the barn before I can put them there. Any chance barn cleaning is in your job description?” She nudged him with her shoulder and looked up at him from under her lashes.
Not fair. That look had probably been created by Aphrodite to make men’s knees and wills weaken. And Livvy had it down pat. Dammit.
Looked like he’d just added more work to his day because there was no way was he opting for an indoor barnyard in his soon-to-be Hideaway Hills Resort.
But then the skies opened up, unleashing sheets of rain worthy of Noah and his menagerie.
“Oh no!” Livvy flew off the door, rounded the animals up, then glared at him. “Well?”
“Well what?” He hadn’t moved. Nor did he intend to.
“Aren’t you going to help me?”
“Help you what?”
“Get them inside.”
“Inside? I thought we just decided to empty out the barn.”
“But they’re getting wet.”
“They’re animals. They’re used to it.”
“No they’re not. And I don’t want them to get sick. Come on.” She nudged the pig out of the way and yanked on the door.
Sean grabbed it before it moved more than two inches from the frame. “You’re not letting them back in.”
Spiked, sooty lashes framed spitting gold eyes. “Yes I am.”
“No you’re not. They’re animals. Barnyard animals.”
“Who don’t have a barn. Now quit arguing and move!”
For a tiny thing she sure could pack a wallop. Her hip clipped him at mid-thigh and he actually had to sidestep to stay upright.
That was the break she needed. Just that quick, she grabbed hold of both door handles and flung them open. Animals stampeded inside.
Shit. You’d think they’d never seen rain before.
He could no longer say the same for the Aubusson. The only saving grace was that it’d already been ruined—as the furniture was now being. Oh, hell.
Thunder rattled the panes of the French doors.
“I better close those,” Livvy, the den mother, said, pushing off one of the wingback chairs.
“Why bother?” Sean slicked his drenched hair off his f
orehead with one hand and grabbed her arm with the other. “The floor’s already soaked. Besides, you wanted a barn. Now you’ve got one.” With the décor of Versailles.
She had a finger already pointing his way, but, mid-turn, the words got stuck in her mouth. She looked at him, then at herself, then at all the animals, and promptly started laughing.
Which got him laughing.
But with her bedraggled skirt plastered against her legs and the wet, gauzy, practically transparent fabric doing the same to her body, laughter died in Sean’s throat.
It was replaced by something much heavier. Expectant. He couldn’t look away.
She looked delectable. Rain tracked along her collarbone, a few drops pooling in the hollow before they slipped down her chest beneath the thin fabric of her camisole. Sean traced that line with his eyes, his breath growing shallower with every freckle he counted.
Livvy’s laughter slid away and Sean met her gaze.
The vulnerability he’d seen before had been replaced by something . . . more.
He wanted more.
He didn’t understand why; she wasn’t his usual type. But it didn’t matter. When Livvy looked at him like she was, looking like she did, it didn’t matter. He wanted her.
He took a step toward her. A slight one, but her lashes flickered and her lips, slicked with rainwater, formed a small O. He wanted to lick it off.
So he did.
Somehow she was in his arms, their bodies touching, their breath mingling, her curls skimming his chest at the V of his shirt, and his tongue slid out to taste her lips. Just a whisper of a touch, but there was no hesitancy on her part. Her breath caught just enough for the small opening he needed and he deepened the kiss.
Thunder crashed through the room—or maybe that was the blood rushing through his veins as his body turned to fire. He wrapped his arms over her shoulders, pressing the impossibly small curve of her waist against him, her breasts—her wet, tight breasts—crushed against his chest, and he couldn’t help but groan as her hips moved against him.
God, she turned him on and he didn’t care if she knew it. Because really . . . how could she not?
He slid one hand into the tangle of curls he wanted to see spread all over the bed pillows upstairs, and held her head at just the right angle. His tongue swept in, meeting the thrust of hers, her lips nipping at his, her nipples pressing against his chest, sending riotous signals to every nerve ending in his body.
She was tiny, almost fragile, but, God, could she kiss. The fierce scrape of her nails on his back beneath his shirt, the way she leaned against him, holding nothing back . . .
The low moan in the back of her throat . . . It undid him.
He ran his hand lower, cupping her ass, pulling her into position. He’d love to wrap her legs around him, but that’d mean letting go of the sensuous fall of damp hair caressing his skin and that just wasn’t an option at the moment. He could picture it draped over him as she straddled him, her breasts, heavy in his palms, swaying with their rhythm.
God, the image . . . He deepened the kiss, his tongue doing what his cock wanted to. He was so hard he ached . . .
He slid his lips to her cheek, tasting the hint of her arousal beneath the rain, tilting her head back, feeling her breath harsh against his ear. He dipped into the hollow below her jaw, her pulse pounding against his lips as he slid them up to her lobe, catching it between his teeth, tugging, and her head fell back. Moist, creamy skin his for the taking, a brush of his lips, the swirl of his tongue—
Hell, he was in a lot of trouble. This wasn’t part of his plan. He was supposed to be devising a scheme to get her out of here, not kissing her senseless.
Yet he couldn’t seem to stop. Kissing her might not be the smartest business decision he’d ever made, but by God, he thought it might be the best life decision he’d ever made.
And then the damn pig butted him in the ass.
Chapter Five
SEAN jerked his head to look into those eyes he’d wanted to drown in moments ago—and wanted to go under again.
But, good God, this was a really bad idea.
“If your pig thinks he’s a cat, why is he acting like a guard dog?” He needed to put some sense into the moment and if guard pigs were it, then he was definitely in a lot of trouble.
But it did the trick; Livvy’s eyes danced with laughter. “Reggie’s a little, um, jealous of anyone who gets more attention than he does. It could be Calliope, it could be Rhett. He doesn’t have anything against you specifically.”
Oh, yes, Reggie did. The pig’s snout was against him. In a very inopportune spot. One toss of the animal’s head and Sean would be singing soprano for a while. “Care to call him off?”
Livvy chuckled again and took a step back. Sean felt the loss immediately. But he also felt Reggie ease away. The thing glared at him as it did so.
Sean nodded at the animal. “Effective.”
Livvy shrugged—and it did way too many good things to the thin shirt still plastered to her chest. If Reggie hadn’t grunted a warning, Sean would have closed the gap between them again.
That, however, wouldn’t be smart. He had to stay far, far away from Livvy Carolla.
But then she tossed her curls over her shoulder, the curve of her neck reminding him he hadn’t gotten to taste that part of her yet.
“Why’d you do that?”
Because it’d been a better idea than getting her upstairs and out of those clothes. “You mean kiss you?”
She nibbled on her index finger and Sean wanted to groan. The tip of her tongue, a hint of pink, that sweet tart taste of apples . . .
“Uh, yeah. That.”
“A guy needs a reason to want to kiss a sexy woman?”
She snorted. “Oh, puh-leaze. I look like a drowning poodle.” She brushed her hands in front of her skirt and looked down . . .
And saw what he saw.
Those amber eyes shot back to his.
He tried to hide his smile. “I don’t think so.”
“Yeah, well . . .” She drew her hair forward and hunched her shoulders, crossing her arms for more protection. His protection, if she only knew. “Do you make a habit of kissing rain-drenched women? Must make you quite the popular guy. I’m surprised no one’s rearranged your pretty-boy face yet.”
“You weren’t exactly fighting me off.”
“You weren’t exactly giving me the chance.”
“Nice try, Princess, but your sigh and that tongue sliding into my mouth were pure come-on. Don’t go putting all of this on me. I would’ve stopped any time you put up a fuss.” And if he believed that, he’d have no doubts that he was going to end up with this place.
“I could fire you, you know.”
“Yes. You could. But then who’d show you around? Give you the keys? Clean out your barn?” Sean used bravado to cover up the very real fear she would fire him. What had he been thinking? Breaking the contract with Manley Maids was the last thing he wanted her to do.
“Look, I’m sorry.” He blew out a breath and raked his hands through his hair. “It won’t happen again. I guess I just misinterpreted the interest.” Right. That might not have been the reason her nipples had been saluting him at first, but she’d been as into the moment as he had.
But the project was what was important: getting her to fail. He’d do whatever it took to stay here.
Including keeping away from one hot Livvy Carolla.
MISINTERPRETED the interest. Oh, he hadn’t misinterpreted anything, but Livvy wasn’t about to admit it. What on earth had she been thinking, kissing him like that? The man was a perfect stranger.
“Perfect” being the operative word.
She certainly couldn’t disagree with him. She hadn’t put up a fuss because kissing him had seemed the right thing to do.
Right thing to do—sheesh
. Now she was thinking like her mother.
Of course, if Mom hadn’t thought kissing the worm was the right thing to do, Livvy wouldn’t be standing here, staring at the most gorgeous guy she’d ever met.
“Fine. Apology accepted. Let’s just not have a repeat, okay?” Thunder rumbled the panes of glass again as the rain picked up. Another flash of lightning made Rhett snort in the corner. Daisy started snorting and the goats jumped over each other, trying for higher ground. Reggie did what he always did during a storm—scrambled between her legs, coughing as if he had something stuck in his snout.
And then she heard the screechy rendition of “Yellow Submarine” echoing through the foyer: Orwell at his most frightened.
“Watch these guys,” she told Sean as she herded Reggie toward him by the bell collar. “I’ll be right back.”
“Watch them?” Sean took the harness for a second, then dropped it as if it were on fire. “What do you mean, watch them?”
“Let Reggie stand next to you and don’t let the others start nipping each other. Especially the alpacas. I need their fleece in good shape.” If Sean had felt any attraction to her before that moment, it had to be gone now; he was looking at her as though she had a few screws loose. But it couldn’t be helped. Orwell would only get louder and work himself into a state, and it’d take him days to calm down. A psycho parrot was not good company.
She bolted through the doorway, wincing as Orwell started in on the chorus.
Taking the steps two at a time, Livvy flew up them and into her room, swooping up the parrot’s cage and high-tailing it into the closet. The moment darkness enveloped him, Orwell calmed down. Traveling and being alone in a storm: his two worst nightmares.
Livvy reined in her breathing and searched for the latch to the birdcage. He’d be fine once he was on her shoulder.
Sure enough, he hopped onto her hand, then scrambled up her arm, making her wish she’d worn long sleeves. He leaned over and, with a loud smacking sound, gave her the non-biting version of a parrot’s kiss.
“Good boy, Orwell,” he said.
“Good boy, Orwell.” Livvy stroked his head, then opened the closet door.
What a Woman Wants (A Manley Maids Novel) Page 4
