by Nina Bangs
She was trying to appease the uncultured slob who'd just been hired to do the painting grunt work. Con knew he was probably being unfair, but he needed to be mad. If for no other reason than to convince his aroused body it hadn't wanted her anyway. But his body was too smart to buy that crap.
"Unless I missed something, I don't think the owner told us squat." Con shrugged. "So I'm going to interpret the Castle of Dark Dreams any way I want. Besides, Holgarth contracted my company to do the painting, and if I take my paint and go home, you have nothing." He regressed to a ten-year-old around this woman. Mandy bugged him. Her unswerving drive to be perfect had always driven him crazy. Of course, she'd also been a perfect lover. He was okay with that.
Con watched the horror return to her eyes. He had to admit he liked her playful sensual look better.
"You've spent a lifetime being the best at whatever you did—cheerleader, class president, top of your class. You were driven in high school, and then you went off to New York and I guess drove yourself some more. So you're a good designer, but don't give me that decorating diva act." What the hell? He'd never realized how mad he was with Amanda Harcourt. Where had all this anger come from? They'd had one night of incredible sex. She shouldn't be able to do this to him. "Give other people some credit for maybe having a few smarts." Shut your mouth, Maguire. You have to work with her. "Tell me something, Mandy. Does being the best at everything make you happy?" That was cold. And that last comment wasn't who he was. He was a live and let live kind of guy.
She looked stricken. "I'm not—"
Con held up his hand. "Look, I'm sorry." Rising, he raked his fingers through his hair. "How you live your life is your own business." He fixed his eyes on her toes as he walked toward her. Pale pink polish. Soft, feminine, and able to bring a grown man to his knees.
A sudden blur of motion made him look up just in time to see Deimos leap across the white table in a soaring trajectory aimed at the arrow slit's ledge. Mandy turned to follow Con's gaze.
Deimos's trajectory calculations were a little off, though, because the only part of him that hit the ledge was his chin.
Tumbling back onto the table, he rolled off taking the limp plant with him. Con winced as the cat hit the floor and came up wearing the pot on his head like a battle trophy. Mandy would approve. It was a neutral pot. The hapless plant lay on the white carpet in a scatter of dirt.
Con could tell that Mandy was biting back laughter. "How about a chorus of `Oops, I Did It Again?"
Con shook his head. "I really believed cats always landed on their feet. Learn something new every day." He reached down to lift the pot off Deimos's head.
"Look, dumbass, I'm not used to handling four legs. Okay? I just wanted to get away from all that X-rated garbage you guys were projecting. You need to throw cold water on those mental images. Young and innocent eyes are watching here. " Deimos sat down and used one spotted paw to scrape off a few mangled leaves from his head. "I hate this job. I want real action, violence, destruction. You know, guy stuff."
Con sucked in his breath as he stared down at the cat. The pot fell unnoticed to the floor. "Tell me you heard that, Mandy."
"Heard what?" Mandy frowned at the dirt. "Where's the vacuum?"
He didn't answer. The cat had spoken in his head. Again. Con wasn't imagining it this time. No blaming it on the heat. When he was a kid, he used to imagine he had magical powers like his supposed Druid ancestors. But this wasn't make-believe, and he wasn't a kid anymore. First he had to figure out if this was real or if he was going crazy. Who could he ask? Not Mandy. She already half thought he was nuts.
She turned to see why he hadn't answered, and sudden concern flooded her eyes. "You look terrible. You're gray and—" she put her palm on his forehead "—clammy. It's the heat. We need to get some liquids into—"
She never got a chance to finish her sentence, because Sparkle Stardust rushed into the room. Sparkle's face was red, and she was puffing. "Ran all the way up those damned stairs." She scanned the room. "Someone hurt Sweetie Pie. I felt her cry out to me."
Her? Con could've sworn Deimos was male. Mandy glanced at Con for inspiration, but he could only shrug. How could he concentrate on Sparkle when he was trying to come to terms with the bizarre fact that a cat was talking in his head?
Mandy's expression said he was a poor excuse for a hero. "Deimos is fine. It was ..."
Sparkle swept by all of them, including Deimos, without a glance. She plunked herself on the floor beside the plant, scooped it up gently, and then held it cradled against her chest. "Who did this to you?"
If the blasted plant answered her, Con was gone.
"It was an accident. Deimos was trying to jump onto the ledge, and he misjudged the distance." Mandy's tone said she pretty much thought Sweetie Pie was too traumatized to get her facts straight, and why was everyone so bent out of shape?
Sparkle glanced at Deimos and cocked her head as though she was listening to something only she could hear. Con had a good idea what it was.
"Oh for crying out loud. Cut the whining. I guess I have to do everything myself." Sparkle stood and then picked up Sweetie Pie's pot. "I've got to get her back in her pot right away."
"Are you talking to me?" Mandy looked completely confused.
"Hmm?" Sparkle looked at Mandy as if she'd just seen her. "No, I'm talking to Deimos." She shifted her attention to Con. "I hope you guys will be getting it on soon."
Con stared at Sparkle, Deimos, and Sweetie Pie. This was some serious weirdness. "Is this place cursed?"
Sparkle smiled, a sly calculating lift of her lips. "I'm not asking for myself, hot bod. I'm asking for Sweetie Pie."
"Ah, everything is clear now." Mandy looked amused. "You want Con and Sweetie Pie to hook up."
Sparkle cast Mandy a slitty-eyed glare. "Is this where I'm supposed to laugh?"
Mandy had the sense to shut up.
"Sweetie Pie's well-being is in your hands . . ." Sparkle paused to consider her words. "Or other body parts. According to Holgarth, the owner wants you guys to take care of the plants. I was just keeping an eye on them until you got here." She carefully set Sweetie Pie in her dirtless pot.
"Here's the fun part. The owner enjoys studying plant behavior. Experiments have shown plants react to the things humans do and say. Plants seem to be healthiest in places with a lot of sexual activity." Sparkle smiled a wicked smile. "So I guess we'll all know how things are going by how perky Sweetie Pie and her siblings are."
Satisfied with her bombshell, Sparkle carried Sweetie Pie to the door and then paused. "I'll bring her back once I've replaced her soil."
As Sparkle left the room, Deimos trailed after her. He glanced at Con before disappearing. "I hope you're not buying that. Umm, but if you do decide to help old Sweetie Pie get perky again, let me know your schedule so I can be far, far away."
After they were gone, Mandy closed the door and leaned her back against it. "Tell me that woman didn't say we had to have sex so the plants would stay healthy."
"That's what she said." Now why hadn't he ever thought of that for a school science fair project? He shook his head to clear it. Forget the plants, he had more important things to think about.
"And what's with Deimos? You and Sparkle were acting strange around him." She was talking to him, but her gaze was riveted on the small pile of dirt.
Ha! She thought a pile of dirt was her biggest worry. "Deimos was talking to us." Mandy wouldn't believe him, but he wanted to see her expression anyway.
"Uh-huh." She never took her eyes off the dirt. "I need a vacuum cleaner."
"There's one in my room."
Long pregnant pause. "And that would be where?" "Across the hall."
A longer, more pregnant pause. "Uh-huh. So you're the Brave Prince."
"I slay what dragons I must for my queen."
"You only live a block away."
He shrugged. "It's in my contract."
She shifted her attention from the dirt to hi
s face. She sighed. "I knew I should've asked for more money."
CHAPTER THREE
Amanda should've known it wouldn't last. A week of uneasy peace was more than she'd expected. Con and his men had worked outside all week painting the keep white to make it look as though the stones had been lime-washed.
She knew this because each day she spent her lunch hour in recreational babe-watching. Con might own the company, but he worked right alongside his men—shirtless, muscles rippling, skin gleaming with sweat. Hot visuals equaled fever. After each lunch hour, she jacked up the air to Arctic level.
She hadn't left the castle much except when she drove into Houston to buy furnishings, rugs, and accessories that would put her unique signature on the castle. They hadn't been together, ergo no fighting. The separation hadn't done a thing to ease the sexual tension, though. Like the Gulf tides, it rose and fell with regularity, although each day high tide lasted a little longer.
Shutting down her notebook, she stared at the blank wall of the great hall. A soon to be cream wall. She didn't think Con was a cream kind of guy. Amanda sighed. He'd fight her. And even if she won, she'd lose, because she'd bet he believed in payback.
Which made her think about this morning. No more peaceful coexistence. She'd peeked outside and watched as he took up where he'd left off a week ago. Red trim. Rushing outside, she'd ordered him to cease and desist. Words were spoken, then shouted. Without warning, he'd grown quiet and said he'd paint the damned trim white. Yes. She'd won, she'd won. She maintained her dignity until she was safely back in the castle. Then she allowed herself a mini victory dance. Only afterward did she pause to wonder why he'd given in so easily. Amanda knew enough about Conleth Maguire to figure he was probably planning to run right around her defensive line into the end zone.
The object of her worry swung wide the castle doors and strode into the great hall bringing the smell of fresh paint with him. Wet paint was a sexy smell.
"Done for the day?" Duh, yes. Like you haven't timed down to the second what time he quits each day?
Con nodded. "I'm heading up to my room so I can take a
shower." He glanced at her. "You have a line between your eyes. Doing some deep thinking?"
It never occurred to her to tell the truth. She wasn't sure what that said about the deteriorating state of her character. "Sweetie Pie is still droopy. I tried talking dirty to her. She perked up a little, but when she realized I wasn't following up my talk with action, she went back to being sad. Any ideas?"
His laugh was incredulous. "Is this a trick question? What do you think my idea is?"
"Sex. Right. Forget I asked." She couldn't make love with Con, because he was the one man who might be able to compete with her career. She didn't want to be conflicted. Amanda would just let Sweetie Pie wilt and die. Then she'd deliver the dead body to Holgarth with appropriate regrets. "Oh, you can start painting the great hall as soon as you get the paint."
He stilled. A dangerous quiet that spoke of silent predators crouched in jungle shadows.
"Meow."
Hmm. As jungle predators went, that was pretty weak. Wait. That wasn't Con, it was . . . Amanda glanced down. Deimos stared up. He crouched. She put a protective arm across her notebook. He leaped. She closed her eyes as he slid across the small table and fell off the other end. At least he hadn't taken her notebook with him.
"What color, Mandy?" Now that was how a true jungle cat should sound, all husky and threatening.
Mandy watched as Deimos picked himself up, sat down to wash his face, and then casually padded away as if he'd never wanted to be on the dumb table anyway.
"Color?" Con shifted closer.
He was down to one-word questions. Not a good sign. Amanda figured she'd better answer before he abandoned words altogether and resorted to action. Even though the threat of action kind of turned her on, action probably involved touching. And right now her sexual tension tide was almost at flood stage. No, touching would not be a good thing.
"Cream."
"Last time I looked, this was the Castle of Dark Dreams, not a dessert." Anger simmered and bubbled just below the surface of his self-control. "This room needs rich sensual colors. Had any dark dreams lately, sweet-heat? I bet they weren't decorated in cream."
Okay, no more Ms. Congeniality. "Why do you care? Most men wouldn't give a damn what color I painted this room." She couldn't wait for his answer, so she answered herself. "I'll tell you why. It's because I chose cream. You would've hated any color I chose. What's your freaking problem, Maguire?" Wow, she'd scared herself. She sounded like the seventeen-year-old girl who'd lusted after Con Maguire. The one who'd liked clingy purple tops, heated arguments, and loud laughter. But it felt good on a strictly emotional level.
His mood seemed to improve in direct proportion to her anger. "I think we need to discuss this. Go out and check to make sure I didn't paint any of your trim red, because you know that's what you want to do. Then come up to my room and we'll . . . consult." His grin was wide, taunting, and sexy as hell.
"You bet. I'll do just that." Huffing and puffing, she slammed out of the castle, her bad temper propelling her to the gate where she'd first seen him painting.
At first glance, the castle trim looked white. She let some of her anger go. Everything seemed to be ... no, everything wasn't okay. She moved closer to the gate. Lime green snakes! Scattered along the length of the trim were small lime green snakes. Ohmigod. They all had long lashes, blue eyes, and small blue butterflies on their tails.
She'd kill him. She didn't care if they were whimsical little snakes. She didn't stop to think about the talent that created them. All she cared about was the blue butterflies on their tails. Who gave him the right to expose her butterfly in a public forum? It felt like she'd pulled down her pants and mooned the world.
She grabbed her cell phone from her skirt's pocket and called Holgarth. Now that she thought about it, how did Holgarth get off living somewhere else? She'd include Holgarth in her roaring bad mood.
"Holgarth, here. I assume the castle is in flames or being attacked by barbarian hordes, because I truly can't think of any other reasons that would warrant you disturbing me at home, Ms. Harcourt." He either had caller ID or had recognized her heavy breathing.
"Conleth Maguire painted snakes on the trim around the gate. Who's the designer here? If you want me to do a good job, then I damn well better have some authority. I want to talk to the owner." Blue butterflies on their tails.
"Snakes? How enterprising of him. The owner values creativity." Holgarth took snide and snotty to a whole new level. "The owner wishes not to be disturbed, as do I, Ms. Harcourt. You will simply have to deal with Mr. Maguire yourself. I'm sure he'll soon recognize your superior skills."
Holgarth had mastered the big three—snide, snotty, and sarcastic. What a guy.
"It amazes me, Holgarth, that the owner is paying me a fortune to professionally decorate this place, and yet doesn't give a flip if someone with no professional training at all inflicts his taste on the castle. Go figure." She disconnected and wished she'd called from the phone in her room so she could've slammed the receiver down. If she were a true professional, she'd pack her bags right now and go back to New York. But she intended to stay, and she wasn't ready to question why.
Shoving the phone into her pocket, she walked back into the castle. She climbed the stairs to give herself a chance to cool down. No use going ballistic over the exterior. She needed to concentrate her efforts on the interior. Besides, arguments weren't won by incoherent babbling. When she reached his room, she knocked. No answer. Well, he'd invited her to his room. She twisted the knob. Unlocked. Without a twinge of guilt, she opened the door and stepped inside.
The sound of running water reached her. He was still in the shower. She'd give a shout just so he couldn't accuse her of sneaking. "I'm here."
"I'll be out in a minute." He sounded suspiciously cheerful.
She'd make sure that didn't last long. How
could he plaster a symbol of their night together all over the trim where the whole world could see? She should be frothing at the mouth over the green snakes, but the snakes were merely blips on her radar compared to those little butterflies. Where's your sense of humor, Harcourt? Her humor didn't extend to the butterfly on her behind.
Calm down. He only wins if you react. She did some deep breathing and in a few minutes felt almost tranquil.
The sound of running water stopped, and visuals of something more immediate replaced the hated blue butterflies. He'd probably stepped out of the shower, all bare and wet gleaming male. He'd reach for a towel.
She skipped right past images of him toweling his hair dry and rubbing the cloth over his yummy chest. She pulled up images from ten years ago, made age adjustments, and found them excellent. He'd run the towel over his stomach and then his gorgeous ass.
Freeze-frame. The guys she'd known in New York had firm, muscular, or rounded butts, but Conleth Maguire was the only man she'd ever elevated to "gorgeous ass" status. This was not a good thing. She'd wanted to come back to Galveston, look at it through her grown-up eyes, and proclaim that everything was better in New York, including asses. There was still hope, though. She hadn't seen Con's bare buns lately. Maybe they had lost some of their star quality over the years. She could only hope.
Okay, moving onward with her visuals of the Body-Maguire. Next, he'd reach between his legs, cup his .. .
Where was the thermostat? He must keep this place set at ninety degrees. For the first time, she looked around the room. Amanda blinked, and her sexy mental images disappeared. She hated when that happened. But she couldn't ignore bad taste.
Blue. Everything in the room was pale blue. Ugh, ugh, ugh. She finally located the thermostat. Hmm, seventy degrees. Must be wrong. She pushed it a few degrees lower, then took a closer look at the room.
