What a Woman Gets (18 page)

T
WO
torturous hours later, he and Cassidy had made little progress.

Well,
he'd
made little progress. Cassidy had gotten much more done because she was obviously taking his
opposite sides
edict literally. Her gaze hadn't strayed even once in his direction.

It was stupid that that bothered him, but every time he turned around, she was in some pose that punched him in the gut. The last one had been a doozy: she'd been bent over the top of the ladder putting painter's tape around the edge of the trim, giving him the perfect view of her butt. The one he'd had his hands on. His palms still felt the curve and softness. If he had to spend even another second staring at her butt, he'd go nuts.

Which, of course, was the universe's code for Make-Cassidy-Bend-Over-In-Front-Of-Him-On-The-Ladder-Again, thereby putting her butt at eye level once more when he went for another gallon of paint.

He looked heavenward.
Seriously
?

“Liam? Can you come over here for a second?”

Not a chance in hell. “Why?”

She tossed her ponytail over her shoulder and looked back at him. An escaped curl got caught on her nose and she blew it out of the way.

The move also went straight to his gut because he could completely imagine her doing the same thing after being bent over him like that—

“Hello? Because I need help?” She pointedly looked at the blue painter's tape that had come unstuck and the dribble of white paint on the wall below it. “I could use a wet rag before the paint dries. Unless you're just going to stand there and stare?”

Standing here staring definitely had a lot to recommend it. Which was the reason he got moving.

Twelve seconds, six deep breaths, and one wet rag later, Liam was trying to figure out the safest way to get it to her without having to go anywhere near her.

“Liam?” She nailed him with her gorgeous green eyes. “Any day now. Unless you want the wall to be white, too?”

“I'm sure you'd take issue with that color as well.”

“As you could see from my condo, white isn't a color any more than beige is. It's a backdrop. Now, yes or no to the white wall?”

“Hang on.” She was a bossy thing. And, surprisingly, on her, he liked it. Better than being a covert manipulator like his last girlfriend.

Cassidy is not
your girlfriend.

“Here.” He practically threw the rag at her.

“Seriously?” She looked where the rag landed on the bottom rung and rattled the paint tray and brush she was holding. “Which hand was I supposed to catch that with? I mean, I know we'll be violating the opposite side of the room thing, but I'm thinking dripping paint supersedes that.”

Dammit. She was right and he hated that she was almost as much as he hated that he was going to have to stand behind her on the ladder to wipe the paint off.

He climbed up, trying to keep as much air space between them as possible. The problem was, her scent filled that space. Something floral and female; it'd been tough to resist from the other side of the room, but up close and personal? She was killing him. He should have driven her to a hotel, paid for a month, and left her there. He hadn't had a moment's peace since moving her in to his house.

“Yoo hoo, Liam.”

Right. He mentally shook his head to clear it. Christ, he wasn't some teenager with his first crush. So he was attracted to her. That didn't mean it had to go anywhere. He was a grown man; he could control his urges.

But the one he had as he leaned over her to clean up the drip . . .

It took two passes with the rag to wipe off the paint, then Liam was down that ladder and out of temptation's way before he took another breath.

“Thank you,” she said, her breathing sounding perfectly normal.

Liam strove for the same thing when he said, “No problem.”

Total lie.
Huge
problem. That kiss was sitting right there between them and he'd wanted to take up right where they'd left off.

“If you say so,” she mumbled. “So you're still set on this beige non-color?”

Yeah, focus on the paint. On what they were doing here. Not what he
wanted
to be doing here. “Better than hunter green, given your little accident, sweetheart.” He walked back to his side of the room, which wasn't far enough away from her, but was as far as he could get, that
sweetheart
comment sticking in his head. It'd slipped from his lips way too easily.

“So what color are the shelves going to be? Also beige?”

He chuckled. Couldn't help himself. Especially when he saw the mischievous twinkle in her eye that said she was teasing him.

If only she knew in how many ways.

He needed to get a grip. “No. They'll be stained mahogany to match the floor.” Liam took a deep breath. Shop talk was the perfect way to get his head back into the project where it needed to be and off her.

“I still think you should use cherry. It goes with the house so much better.”

“Mahogany is a perfectly fine color, Cassidy.”

“Okay, but if you're still stuck on the whole beige thing, cherry would offset the black mortar around the fireplace really nicely. Much better than mahogany.”

“I'm not going with black mortar.”

“You should.” She tapped her lips with the end of her paintbrush. “It'd look great.”

He looked at the fireplace, focusing on it instead of her lips. The ones he'd kissed.

Black mortar. The woman was right. That would look nice.

And with a property this small, dark mahogany floors and shelving would make the place seem smaller. Plus, he had enough cherry stain left over from another job, so the cost would actually be less.

Hmmm. She'd said she'd studied design; maybe she did know what she was talking about after all.

“So, Cassidy.” He put the kiss behind him and thought carefully about what he was about to say. She might drive him nuts physically, but business-wise, she made sense. That discussion about branding and bringing clients
to
him rather than having to reinvent the wheel made sense. “If I do elect to go with a cherry floor, what would you suggest for these shelves?”

“Well . . .” Cassidy descended the ladder with all her eighty-gazillion inches of leg, and Liam had to remember to breathe the entire time she climbed down. “If I were you, I'd go with a custom paint job on the shelves. Maybe autumn leaves or a padded-leather look that'll go with the house. Play into its character.”

And again, it was a good idea. It was only paint after all, not the commitment of wallpaper or architectural elements that a prospective buyer could take issue with.

“So . . . if we do this, we'll barter room and board for your design expertise? I don't have the money in my budget for extras like knickknacks or things, and we're not talking furniture. We're talking design. The color on the walls, the stain, the trim, the shelves. Does that work for you?”

“Work for me? Absolutely.”

Her smile was worth the offer alone.

Get a grip, Manley. She's just a woman. A pretty one, but still . . . Let's not forget Rachel.

God, he sounded jaded. He'd never realized it until right now. He'd judged Cassidy on his preconceptions, and if her father hadn't kicked her out, he'd still be thinking them.

It wasn't a moment Liam was proud of.

It was also the moment he realized that he was painting her with the same brush Rachel had waved around like a banner.

“Bartering will help me pay you off quicker.”

That idea no longer held the appeal it used to. “Okay, so we do the walls and trim, then you can think about what you want to do for the shelves, and we'll go from there. Sound good?”

*   *   *

C
ASSIDY
made sure not to jump off the ladder and fling herself into Liam's arms this time. They'd worked past the kiss and gotten to the point where he was hearing what she was saying. She didn't want to jeopardize that.

“That works.” She tried to keep the emotion out of her voice. He was giving her a shot and putting his trust in her vision. It might not seem like a big deal to anyone else, but being taken on her own merit, her own idea, was huge. All her life, things had come to her because of who she was. Liam didn't
have
to do this. He'd actually fought her on it until he'd taken the time to listen.

No one had really listened to
her
before.

The fact that Liam had, that he valued what she had to say . . . That opened a can of worms.

Because while her father's eviction made her angry and determined to prove him wrong, Liam's respect made her worried that she wouldn't prove him right.

H
ELLO
,
dear.” Mrs. Manley stood on the front porch the next morning with a genuine smile on her face and a plate of cookies in her hand. Liam was off to work on some issue with the steps, so Cassidy let her in.

“Good morning, Mrs. Manley. It's nice to see you again.” Except for the fact that Cassidy was wearing a pair of cut-off shorts made out of an old pair of Liam's sweatpants and one of the drabbest T-shirts she'd ever seen that she'd found in the old chest of drawers in his garage where he stored dust rags and drop cloths. It was better than her remaining wardrobe choices, the best of which was a ridiculous pair of studded jean shorts and a cotton shirt that tied beneath her breasts. Daisy Duke or male grunge? That the latter was the better pick said a lot about her wardrobe. She should have taken a few of her real outfits, Dad's edict be dammed.

“I haven't come at a bad time, have I?” Mrs. Manley looked almost hopeful at the question.

“Liam's on a job, but of course you're welcome to come in.” Cassidy toed Titania out of the way. The Maltese was sitting smack dab in the center of the foyer as if she owned the place. Cassidy had told her more than once not to get too comfortable.

“I can only stay for a minute.” The woman came in and headed to the kitchen, placing the cookies on the breakfast table, not looking as if she was only staying a minute. “I was in the area and thought I'd see how my little table was coming. I'm not pushing, mind you. It's just that I'm so thrilled I can hardly wait. I've had the maintenance workers at my facility move my chair into place and polish the lamp Bryan bought me. The sun hits the spot just right in the morning. It'll be perfect to read the paper while I have my coffee.”

“Oh, would you like a cup?” Cassidy wasn't a coffee drinker, which was why the pot wasn't going, but Liam had one of those single-cup makers and an assortment of coffees in his pantry.

“I'd love some. Liam keeps a coffee maker here for me. Such a thoughtful man. He even bought different flavors for me to have an assortment to choose from.”

“Well then, let me make you a cup.” Cassidy brought out a selection from the pantry and prayed she could figure out the coffeepot, since she'd never actually
made
coffee.

“Your dog is awfully cute.” Mrs. Manley sat at Liam's kitchen table and patted her lap for Titania to jump onto it.

“Thanks. Titania's a great dog.”

“I never had a dog when the kids were growing up. One more mouth to feed. One more thing to clean up after. Four young children at my age, and having lost my son . . . It was a bit much.”

“I can't imagine how you did it. The thought of one child terrifies me.” But not for the reasons Mrs. Manley would think. Half the reason she'd bought Titania was to see if she
could
care for another living being. (The other half might have been to give her father agita
.
) But dogs were different than children, and while Titania was a success story, Cassidy didn't harbor any thoughts that a child would be as easy. Titania required two meals a day, a patch of grass, and some loving—none of the psychological, esteem-building sort of caring that kids did. The sort of caring Cassidy had been sorely lacking.

“Oh, it's amazing what you'll do for love.” Mrs. Manley tapped the Hawaiian Kona packet. “We didn't have a lot, but those kids knew they were loved. And they loved me right back. I was very fortunate to have been able to know my grandchildren as I've come to know them, and to have them be such a part of my life. There was nothing like having them with me all those years.”

Cassidy had to clear her throat on her walk to the coffee maker. It was either that or start blubbering all over the woman. Here, she'd been the only child to
two
parents and hadn't gotten even a tenth of the love the lone Mrs. Manley had shared with
four
children. Liam and his siblings were so lucky, and it just showed what Franklin's life and death had taught her was true: that all the
things
she'd had weren't what was important in life. Look at her now: she didn't even have
one
person she could go to for help, just some stranger with a big heart—that he'd obviously gotten from this woman.

“So what about you, Cass? What's your family like? Do you have siblings? What do your parents do? Oh, and press that button on the top there.”

It might be a better idea to just get a kitchen knife and slice a vein than have this conversation. For all that she'd had everything, she'd had nothing when compared to Liam and his family.

She pressed the button and the coffee maker opened. “Um. My parents. They're divorced.” Yes, stick as close to the truth as possible when lying. Not that she was going to lie, just omit a few things. Like her father's name. “Mom lives out of the country, so I don't see her a lot, and my father's a workaholic. I'm an only child. Needless to say, my upbringing was a bit tame compared to Liam and his siblings'.”

“I can imagine.” Mrs. Manley set Titania on the floor and took a seat at the counter. “Put the water in that clear plastic part, dear. The lid lifts, I believe. The mug goes underneath and then press
BREW
.” She rested her hands on the counter, fingers intertwined. “My husband and I only had Neil. Liam's father. I'd wanted more, but it wasn't to be. Having four took some getting used to, but I must say, having them certainly made the grieving process easier. I didn't have time. Plus, they were hurting so badly. My poor little Mary-Alice Catherine . . . She clung to me as if
I
was going to leave her next. As it is, I only moved out of the house she and I shared a few months ago. That girl wouldn't let me go even when she grew up, though I think it was out of a misguided sense of guilt. I finally had to sign the papers on my new place behind her back to push her out of the nest, as it were, though I was the one who left. It's time for her to be on her own and live her life. She's too young—and so am I—for her to start taking care of me. I have some living left to do, you know, and I don't think my grandchildren see me as a real person. As someone other than their grandmother.”

She winked at Cassidy and it was all Cassidy could do to keep her mouth from dropping open. Did Mrs. Manley mean what Cassidy thought she meant? Was there a
gentleman friend
in the picture, by chance?

She looked at the woman with new eyes. As a woman, not as a grandmother. She looked to be in her late sixties, early seventies, and in great shape. Obviously her mind was still sharp, and she was very beautiful. Why shouldn't she date? Find someone to spend her twilight years with . . .

That image hit Cassidy with the force of an arrow right to the heart. Why? Why was she thinking about this now? It wasn't as if she'd never contemplated the rest of her life, but it'd never hit her with such force.

And the sad thing was, she was seeing herself alone in a penthouse like the one she'd just left. Oh, sure, she'd probably have her father's millions, but what about having children and grandchildren around her? Would marriage with one of Dad's flunkies give her the family she so desperately wanted?

No. She knew it as surely as she was standing in Liam Manley's kitchen conversing with his grandmother, and it only enforced her decision not to marry who Dad chose. It was merely another business deal to him, but to her . . . It was her chance to get what she wanted. Needed.

A family.

“Cass? Are you okay, dear?”

Cassidy took in a shuddering breath and pasted that big ol' Showpiece smile on her face. She was no stranger to pretending everything was fine, to sucking it up and pouring on the charm when need be, and Mrs. Manley didn't deserve to have all of Cassidy's baggage unloaded on her.

“I'm fine. Just imagining what it must have been like growing up with three siblings. It must have been loud.” She took the mug from the pot, grabbed a spoon and the sugar bowl, then set them in front of Mrs. Manley. “Cream and sugar?”

“Just sugar.” She scooped out two teaspoons. “It was loud. I was used to just the one boy, you see. Three almost put me over the edge. And then Mary-Alice Catherine was doing everything her tiny little legs could do to keep up with them. There was never a dull—or clean—moment.”

“Liam told me that you taught them to clean.”

“It was that or drown in a mess. There were too many of them with too many needs and only one of me. They had to help out or my home would have been condemned.” She chuckled and took a sip of her coffee. “I just never thought they'd end up using what I'd taught them like this. I'd love to see Bryan cleaning a bathroom. This is wonderful, by the way. Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” Bryan. Manley. Bryan
Manley
. Oh wow. Cassidy hadn't made the connection. Bryan Manley was a movie star. This town's hometown hero. He was actually a bigger celebrity than her father—which rankled her father to no end. The only saving grace in Dad's eyes was that Bryan spent most of his time in Hollywood, and when he was here, he kept a low profile. She'd seen him at a few charity events, but hadn't had the chance to meet him because of the throngs surrounding him. Dad felt it was undignified to be a member of a throng, so they'd waited for Bryan to come to them.

He hadn't.

And she, in her pre-Franklin all-about-her days, had been miffed. Had decided he wasn't worth her time or attention.

What a stupid idea. He was probably just as nice a guy as Liam.

Though Liam was actually better-looking in her opinion. But then, she might be a tad biased.

“So may I see my table?” Mrs. Manley asked after she'd shared more of Liam and his siblings' childhood stories and finished her coffee. “I'm so excited. I've never had anything custom-made before.”

“Well, I've only sanded it and fixed the drawer. I haven't started painting it.”

“I'd still love to see it, if you wouldn't mind. The before part of my masterpiece.”

“Well I don't know about masterpiece—”

“Nonsense.” Mrs. Manley tapped Cassidy on the arm. “If you don't think your furniture is an artistic masterpiece, no one else will either. You have to have faith in your work. Confidence. People can tell. Act as if they're doing you a favor and you'll devalue all your hard work and time.” Mrs. Manley hopped off the stool. “Let's go see my diamond in the rough.”

Mrs. Manley was the gem here. The only gem that was really important in life. Cassidy wanted what Liam and his siblings had.

If she and he started something, maybe she could.

Of course, that would have to mean he
wanted
to start something with her, and she wasn't sure he did. Oh, he was attracted to her, but a kiss did not a relationship make. She couldn't let herself hope. Couldn't let herself dream. She couldn't take the disappointment if it didn't pan out.

Too bad her heart wasn't listening to the part about how it might not pan out.

“Well it certainly looks different than what it did the other day.” Mrs. Manley ran her fingertips gently over the barrel-shaped table that had been a splotchy mess of varnish and stain but was now newly sanded blond oak.

“And in a few days you won't recognize it.”

“I'm very excited to see it. The décor will look lovely next to the blue chair Mary-Alice Catherine bought me.” She looked around the garage. “My, you have a lot of projects going on.”

“And unfortunately, no more room to work on the rest of the pieces. I used to have a storage area but it, uh, the lease was almost up and the rent's no longer in my budget.”

What budget?

“There's the other half of the garage.” Mrs. Manley pointed to the truck.

“That's where Liam parks.”

“It's summer. He can park outside. You should make this your studio.”

“I don't want to impose any more than I already am.” Liam didn't deserve her imposition in his life, but having met his grandmother, she could see exactly why he'd offered to help her out.

“You're so sweet. So thoughtful.” Mrs. Manley patted her cheek. “You know, I can help you and my grandson out. I know of a place you could use as a studio. The landlord needs someone to occupy it so the neighbors won't complain to the city about it being abandoned. You could do him a favor by having your studio there. I'm sure he'll be thrilled.”

“Oh, but, Mrs. Manl—”

“Don't you dare turn me down, young lady. You think I don't know you're cutting me a deal on that table? I wasn't born yesterday.” She arched both eyebrows. “And don't go asking when I
was
born. I won't tell you. A woman has to have a few secrets, you know.”

Like the one about her gentleman friend if Cassidy had read her right. Was he the owner of the place she was talking about?