“Sounds like a plan.” He raised a forkful of egg. “So? What do you think? Good enough for you?”
He was talking about the food he’d made, right, and not himself because, yeah, he was good enough for her. Too good actually. There had to be a catch. Sean couldn’t possibly be as good as he appeared. Good-looking, hardworking, loved his family, funny, kind, helpful, able to do pretty much anything—and clean—and he’d stopped complaining about her animals. Had even helped her take care of them.
For the first time in a long while, Livvy let hope trickle into her vocabulary.
“Livvy?”
“Oh, um, yes. Great. You really are amazing in the kitchen.”
She so did not just say that.
“Speaking of . . .” Sean set his fork down. “Not addressing it isn’t going to make it go away.” He covered her hand with his and forget the flames on the stove or the temperature of this room once they had all the ovens going today, or even how delicious he looked in something as nondescript as shorts and a T-shirt; nothing could compare to what Sean’s touch did to her.
Hope roared back in, swirled around inside of her, touching every part, and, planted itself firmly into her soul, and suddenly the song lyrics were totally appropriate.
“Livvy, we can’t have a repeat of yesterday.”
Until Sean said that.
“It’s really not a good idea.”
“Okay. Fine.” There was only so much rejection she could take and, frankly, she was over her quota for that for, like, ever. She wasn’t about to beg. Nope. Not her. She hadn’t begged for anything from her grandmother, and she certainly wasn’t about to beg for anything from a guy who wasn’t smart enough to want her.
She crumpled her napkin and tossed it on top of the now-unable-to-be-eaten eggs, then gathered up her place setting and stood. “We ought to get started on the baking. I have a lot to make and, while the breakfast was nice, there really isn’t time to sit around and gab.” She slid the plate to the edge of the table, her napkin dragging the tea set’s sugar bowl with it.
“Livvy—” The lid clanged to the floor, but Sean managed to grab the bowl before it went after it, staring at it as if he didn’t know what it was.
“Can you let the dogs back in, please?” They’d started whining the minute she’d stood, and Livvy was never so glad for their demands as she was this minute. She needed time to compose herself from the electricity thrumming through her, the disappointment of yet another round of hope being dashed, and the embarrassment of him knowing how much she wanted him and being turned down.
And she’d had such hopes for today.
SO much for breakfast.
Sean gathered his plate, not really caring about the food as much as the conversation. He’d tossed and turned most of the night, desire keeping him awake as much as the guilt. Around four A.M. he’d resolved to put an end to it once and for all. Whatever it was. He needed to discuss it with her. Make her see that it wasn’t as cut-and-dried, let’s-sleep-together as she’d made it out to be. Not without telling her the true reason.
Or that there was a clue in the sugar bowl.
God, he was a shit. It was poetic justice, karmic law, the universe laughing at him, that he was turning her down. He wasn’t on Bry’s level when it came to getting women, although he’d never been a slouch in that department, but the one woman he wanted more than any other was the worst possible one for him to hook up with.
Except this wasn’t about hooking up. A night of mutually pleasurable sex could be a good thing if it didn’t come with the rest of the stuff that came with wanting Livvy.
The howling started again at the door, and Sean could totally relate. Besides having to put the brakes on this runaway train–like attraction, there was a clue in the sugar bowl.
What the hell was he going to do about it?
The scratching came next. Sean leapt to his feet, scooped up the eight food bowls and headed out to stop yet another disaster from encroaching on his world because he didn’t need to pay for someone to repair the door as well.
Surprisingly, the dogs were well-behaved for a pack of hungry animals. Their thumping tails and the hyper dance the little ones did were the only signs of how much they were looking forward to the food. Ringo didn’t even growl at him.
Maybe his luck was changing.
The thought held when he went back into the kitchen and found Livvy had tied an apron around her waist—and the bib on it covered a lot more of her cleavage than her camisole, thank God. If he couldn’t touch her, he didn’t need the temptation.
Unfortunately, the universe wasn’t listening. Temptation swirled around him all morning. Every time Livvy danced—she danced constantly—past him, or reached around him, or slid a bowl across the counter, or bent over to take the scones out of the oven, or licked her fingertip when she accidentally touched the hot baking sheet, it was as if someone Up There was laughing at him.
Give him the mess in the living room any day over this. At least he’d be sweating from exertion and honest effort, not frustrated desire he couldn’t act on.
He checked the clock on the wall. Too many hours until she left.
The song changed and Sean winced. “Any Way You Want It” was not what he needed to hear right now. Especially when he heard the chorus echoing down from upstairs. “Sounds like Orwell’s awake.”
Livvy looked up from the kneading board, a spot of flour on her nose. And her cheek. And her shoulder.
“He loves this song. I think it’s the only one he knows all the words to.”
“How about we change it, then?” Perfect excuse not to have a little red Steve Perry devil sitting on his shoulder tempting him for the next three and a half minutes, or however long the damn song was. He pushed the advance button on the iPod.
Bruno Mars. Seriously, could he not get a break here when he was trying to do something right and good?
Upstairs, Orwell was still into Journey, trilling out Perry’s classic, “Ooooooooh.”
“Maybe I should get him. Bring him down into the action.” And get himself out of it, even for a little bit.
Livvy shrugged her shoulders and, interestingly, the bib on her apron stayed in place but the breasts behind it . . . They peeked out a little more over the top and oh, shit, he was in trouble.
At least, he didn’t have those damn pants on and his shorts hid his reaction better.
He headed out the door for Orwell. He’d never have bet he’d see the day when he’d pick a parrot over a woman.
Apparently he would have lost that bet, too.
Chapter Twenty-two
THE twelfth batch of scones came out of the oven, and Sean was ready to call it a day. There were scones everywhere and the damn parrot knew it, too. If Orwell said, “Polly wants a scone” one more time, Sean was going to bake him into one.
“He’s got his clichés mixed up.”
“He does that.” Livvy brushed some crust flakes off her nose. The woman was too utterly adorable for his liking on top of being sexy, and the combination was making mincemeat of his resolution to stay away from her. She couldn’t leave here fast enough.
Which meant, of course, that she ended up hanging around.
She pulled the oven mitts off and plunked herself on the barstool next to his, swinging her bare foot against the rails. Her toenails were pink.
He didn’t know why that should surprise him, but it did. Maybe because he’d expect her to have painted them blue. Or green. Or brown. She was the biggest dichotomy in a woman he’d ever met. Most wouldn’t be caught dead wearing combat boots and gypsy skirts like some throwback to the seventies, but on Livvy it all worked and she was completely unselfconscious of how well it did. He had a feeling she was oblivious to exactly how she looked. In anything.
He’d like to see her in a dress. A real dress. Something sexy and form-fit
ting, but not too revealing. A bit of sparkle at her wrists, but nothing more, letting the beauty that was inside of her do the shining for her.
Once more with the poetry, Manley. Seriously?
He seriously needed to get over her. He seriously needed to move forward with the plan. And he seriously needed to get to that clue. Without her.
“So what time are the guys picking you up? Do we have much more left to do?”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“Of course not. It is your home, after all.” More a reminder for him than her.
“Not yet, it’s not.” She pinched the bridge of her cute little nose. “You knew my grandmother better than me. Any idea why she did this?”
He didn’t know Merriweather at all. He’d thought he had, but not after this. “Not a clue. Maybe she just wants to give you a feel for the family history.”
“It wasn’t enough that I had to live it? The woman endowed half the school, for Pete’s sake. I couldn’t not know about the family.”
“I’m guessing you weren’t thrilled being there?”
“If I’d wanted to go there, then, sure. I’d have been thrilled. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to leave here. My home. My mom. She was still alive when Merriweather got custody. So was my dad. Yet neither one did a thing about an old woman stealing their kid. As if they couldn’t wait for their little problem to go away. Out of sight, out of mind.”
Her voice broke and she looked away.
Sean wanted to wrap her in a hug and squeeze the hurt out of her. But he didn’t. Because that would only make what he was trying to do all that much harder. For both of them.
“They were just kids, Livvy. Probably too freaked out to know what to do.”
“Nice argument if she’d taken me right away. But I was with my mom for five years. Just the two of us, since her parents tossed her out the minute they found out about me. And Daddy didn’t do jack. Not one penny. Not even a card. I’m surprised Merriweather ever knew about me, though not for Mom’s lack of trying.”
“Don’t be so hard on her, Livvy. She was probably scared about taking care of you. Once your other grandparents threw her out, I’m sure it was really tough for her. Perhaps giving you to Merriweather was her attempt at giving you all the things in life she’d never have.”
“And then she drank herself to death with the kiss-off money.”
This time he did reach out to her. He covered her hand. Sometimes simple human comfort was bigger than anything else, and Livvy was hurting. “You can’t know what was in her mind. She might have regretted giving you up. It might have been the hardest thing she’d ever done. Who knows where you’d be now if she hadn’t? You can’t change the past, Livvy. But you can make your future what you want it to be. Don’t let your bitterness over those events color who you are today. Because I think . . .” And here he went veering down a path he had no business going. “I think you turned out all right. More than all right.” He watched his thumb caress her soft skin.
Watched her shift her hand just slightly so she could capture his thumb with hers.
Watched her raise her eyes to meet his. “What are we doing, Sean?”
Hell if he knew. The love song emanating off the damn iPod wasn’t helping, either.
Thankfully, a horn honked outside and the dogs started barking.
The moment was lost.
But not forgotten.
TEN seconds after she drove away, all hell broke loose.
The dogs were no longer his friends, Orwell traded in his nasal singing voice for a full-on, jungle-level parrot screech, and Sean’s phone wouldn’t stop ringing.
The architect had questions. His attorney had questions. Gran had a few. Then there was Mac asking for his help the next day, all of which meant it was well after dark before he had the chance to sit down and decipher the clue he’d taken from the sugar bowl.
You’re going to put it back, Manley.
He would; he didn’t need his conscience reminding him. No matter how badly he wanted this place, he’d never be able to live with himself if he sabotaged her.
Sabotage, beat her to the punch . . . What’s the difference?
Yeah, he was still working on that part. But until he figured it out, he was putting the clue back. After he’d figured it out.
The battle was complex, but so was he
And for it, he earned the family’s heraldry.
Under the banner of an eagle
This knight so regal
Claimed victory with his force
From astride his horse.
Another poem, another riddle. The woman was driving him nuts.
Sean tapped his tablet again, replaying the clue for the key words. An eagle banner, heraldry, a knight, and a horse.
God, he hated puzzles.
Eagle, knight, horse. He had no idea on the eagle thing, but horses would’ve been kept in the barn.
Sean swiped a hand over his mouth. It was a long shot, but at least it was something.
He stuck the tablet in his pocket, praying he’d get lucky and find the next clue, then headed out through the kitchen.
Big mistake. The dogs were waiting to go with him. Yeah, that’s all he’d need, them stirring up trouble with the barn animals. No way.
“Sit,” he said as they followed him en masse to the door.
Of course that only worked for Livvy the dog whisperer.
“Stay.” He put his hand up like she’d done.
Nothing. Tongues lolling, tails wagging, the clatter of nails on the wood floor . . . The dogs wanted out.
Then Ringo whined. So did John. Or maybe that one was Paul.
The little Pomeranian rolled over onto its back, waved its paws, and cried pitifully.
Great. Sean pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t know how to deal with mass animal hysteria.
He backed into the screen door, pulling the interior one with him. “Guys, look. You can’t come. Just hang out for a little bit and I’ll be back.”
The poodle, obviously not on board with that idea, wormed itself between his feet, nudged the door open, and took off across the lawn.
Sonofabitch! Livvy would kill him if he lost her dog.
He locked the others in the kitchen, then ran after the little annoyance.
Tiny legs, but that thing could move. It darted left and right, trying to evade him, and Sean was embarrassed that it was winning.
“Get back here!” He lunged, but the poodle zipped around him to make a beeline for the barn.
Sean ran after it, thankful there was moonlight so he could at least see the black animal, catching up just as the dog nosed its way inside.
As expected, all hell broke loose in there, too. Could he not get a break?
Sean turned on the lights to see the ram butt its head against the stall door, bleating as the baby goats hopped the dividing walls between the stalls and jumped down to circle the dog in a reverse prey-hunter stance, their parents up on their hind legs, front legs draped over their stall doors as if they were at a Little League game.
“Stay!” he called to everyone.
No one listened.
“Sit!”
Not to that, either. The dog yipped at him and moved closer to a baby goat that lowered its head and pawed the ground as if it was going to play bullfight.
He’d have to clue the little thing on how well those didn’t end for the bulls.
“Heel!”
Again, no one paid any attention.
“Look, John, Paul, George, Ringo, Yoko . . . Whatever the hell your name is, come here!”
No dice. The dog yipped again, this time dashing between two of the kids.
The goats ran after it.
The parents jumped the stall door and ran after them.
The geese
scattered, honking and waddling all over the place. A pair of them smashed into each other and practically knocked themselves out.
Rhett started kicking the stall door. Poor Scarlett just looked over it with her soulful eyes as if she was wishing Sean would get her her own stall.
“I’ll talk to Livvy about it, Scarlett.” He reached out to pat the alpaca’s neck to calm her, but Rhett spit at him.
“Alrighty then.” Sean backed away, hands up.
Reggie lumbered over to his stall door, his grunts getting louder with each step.
Sean tossed him a few dog biscuits from the bag hanging on the outside of the stall. Reggie did a little jig back to them, rooting them onto his bedding, the sound he was making more of a purr than anything remotely resembling a pig.
The chickens came flying—metaphorically—out of their supposedly enclosed pen, feathers everywhere, squawking as if the sky was falling, and the ram started kicking the stall now. The lambs started bleating, which got an answering cry from the baby goats, and pretty soon Sean couldn’t hear himself think, let alone make himself heard over the noise.
The poodle zoomed by him and Sean tried to grab it, only to end up having three kids and a parent goat smash into him, taking him down onto the cold, hard, unforgiving concrete floor.
He managed to not land on his tablet, thank God, and avoided having it broken by the goat that climbed onto his back. But with two near-misses avoided, Sean didn’t want to risk a third. His luck couldn’t hold forever.
He rolled over to dislodge the little mountain climber. One of the geese went waddling around his head, a chicken fast on its heels.
Sean had to laugh at that. He was pretty sure that was a first in the annals of barnyard history.
And then a lamb landed on his gut, knocking the wind out of him.
“Baaaaaa.”
He dropped his head onto the concrete. Ouch. That wasn’t the best idea.
Two of the kids jumped over him, then the dog went sailing by. With a swift kick to the groin.
What a Woman Wants (A Manley Maids Novel) Page 18
