What a Woman Wants (A Manley Maids Novel) (11 page)

She read:

Lord William Martinson the first,

Lost three babes as if cursed

The last, yet another son,

He declared to be the one

To raise the profile of their family

From gentry to noble dynasty.

She folded the clue and tapped her lips with it, tilting her head to the side, exposing that soft curve of her neck that he hadn’t had nearly enough time to explore on the two short kisses they’d shared, and Sean could only imagine the hidden delights he’d find there—

“
Watching you
.” Orwell wasn’t one to let silence go to waste.

“So what’s it mean?” He hit the off button on his app and stuck his cell back in his pocket, more to give himself something to do so he wouldn’t stand there and moon over her.

“I don’t know, but it’s all so pretentious,” said Livvy. “Who cares, really? We’re not in feudal England anymore. The serfs now work at Microsoft and some of them earn more than a lot of the outdated royal houses these days. The American dream. Yet my grandmother persisted in perpetuating this monarchical ideal that she now wants to pass on to me. I don’t get it.”

“But do you get this?” Sean tapped the clue, trying to keep the focus on business, not how wistful she looked.

Livvy flicked the clue between her fingers. “I guess we have to find out who Lord Martinson’s fourth son was. Then figure out what he did that was so wonderful.”

She swung one leg off the bed, bobbling a bit as she gained her balance, using his arm to do so, and as far as Sean was concerned, the most wonderful thing William’s son had done was to keep the family tree going, right down the line to Livvy.

Y
OU’RE
sure you’re not hungry? I can make you some lunch.” Livvy leaned against the back door in the kitchen after letting the dogs out and looked at Sean.

He looked really good. Too good.

And he’d thought the same thing about her.

Eyes above the waist, Carolla.

Right. She kept them firmly planted on his face—not that that was a hardship, but she’d seen his reaction upstairs in the bedroom. Kind of hard to miss, since she’d been practically eye level with it and those pants couldn’t keep a secret.

“No, I have to finish the last few stalls in the barn. The goats are a little too energetic for just one and Reggie has been bothering the geese, so he needs a place.”

“Yeah, but you have to eat something. And I did do all that food shopping.” She should stop begging. It wasn’t attractive—not that she was trying to be attractive. She wasn’t.

Was she?

Livvy bit her lip. He really was good-looking, and the chemistry between them . . .
phew
. Had Merriweather seen that
coming when she’d put in this stupid stipulation? Surely, her grandmother couldn’t want her to mingle with
the help
? How
de trop
that would be . . .

The perfect reason
to
mingle with him. If she needed another reason, that was.

He stood in the doorway to the kitchen after she walked in. “What did you have in mind?”

For a second, Livvy just stared at him. She ought to tell him what she had in mind.

“I
am
kind of hungry. Do you have anything, you know, normal?”

Oh. Food. Lunch. Right. Livvy got her brain back into this room and not the little trip down Sexy Lane it’d gone on.

“Normal? What, exactly, constitutes
normal
? ’Cause those phosphates and tri-whatever-o-cides aren’t normal.
Those
are man-made. What I make is organic. Good for you. As
nature
intended, not big pesticide companies.” She grabbed the grass-fed cow’s milk cheese she’d been thrilled to find, and a loaf of her favorite bread, some brown sugar, pecan mustard, the jar of organic pickles, a tomato, and a mango. “Sit. It won’t take me long. I guarantee you’ll love my grilled cheese.”

She
loved watching him set the table. So much so that she almost burned the sandwich, all those muscles flexing and bunching and tightening . . .

A few things of her own were tightening.

She hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind all last night. That moment when they’d been in her grandmother’s bedroom earlier—on the bed—he’d looked at her
that
way. She’d known exactly what that
look had meant and her blood had started to boil. Her nerve endings had gotten all tingly and her breathing had gone for a hike.

Livvy squirmed a bit as she carried the sandwiches over to the table.

He ran his tongue over his lips. “Wow, that looks good.”

He had noooo idea . . .

The dish rattled as she went to set it on the table. Luckily, Sean took it from her and set it down gently. “What can I get you to drink?”

A bucket of ice water and pour it over me.
“Um, the iced tea is fine. I steeped it overnight.” She’d liquefied the raw sugar crystals this morning and mixed them with some fresh-squeezed lemon, then added mint extract in her own secret ratio. A line of herbed teas was going to be her next venture.

Sean brought two glasses back to the table. “You even make it look nice,” he said, handing her her drink as he straddled the chair beside her.

“The presentation should be as good as the food.” She alternated the tomato slices with mango and pickle for a bit of sweet, a bit of tart, and a bit of spice, the perfect complement to the sharp cheese. “
Bon appétit.
”

She watched him take a bite. She loved watching people’s reactions to her food. Most were so ingrained in their normal rigmarole that they couldn’t see outside the box to appreciate what she’d come up with. But when they did, when they tried her creations, they were usually very pleasantly surprised.

She had a feeling Sean was one of those people, so into his daily routine, doing everything the way he’d always done it, that having her around rattled his cage a little.

It certainly rattled hers.

“My God, Livvy, this is amazing.”

So was the way he licked a spot of mustard off his bottom lip.

She wanted him.

Plain and simple, she wanted Sean. And if that rise in his pants earlier was anything to go by, he wanted her, too.

And what was wrong with that? Two consenting adults . . .

Though it wasn’t as if she could just lean across the table and plant one on him, then sweep everything to the floor and make mad, passionate love on this three-hundred-year-old oak table—

And why not?

“So,” said Sean, taking a bite, “I was thinking we ought to check the family bible again and see who this fourth son was. Maybe it will spark an idea of where she would have hidden the clue.”

Oh. Right. That’s why not. She was on a deadline.

“Livvy?”

“Thinking.” But not about the clues. “You’re right; the bible is probably a good place to start. Looks like anyone who’s anyone in the Martinson family is listed, so it should tell us something.”

“Is your name in there?” He took another bite and the muscles in his cheek clenched, giving him a very square jaw that was more than a little manly.

He was so well suited for this job. “My name? I doubt it. I’m not a Martinson.”

“On paper, no, but by blood you are. I would think Merriweather would have put your name in there, even if it was only after she wrote her will.”

Livvy picked up her sandwich and stared at the melted cheese oozing from beneath the crust. “You obviously didn’t know her well. I wouldn’t be surprised if they never served olives at any function here just so there’d be no chance my name would be uttered. I mean, did she ever mention me to you?”

“No.”

“And how long have you worked for her?”

“Uh . . .” He took a bite of his sandwich. Then a long drink of the tea. Then a few mango slices. Crunched on a pickle.

“Must have been quite the experience if you don’t want to talk about it,” she said, scooping a couple of her mango slices onto his plate.

“Definitely an experience knowing ol’ Merriweather.” He swirled the tea around in his glass. “This is really good. You ought to bottle it and sell it.”

“That’s the idea. But it’s a big start-up expense with all the bottling and the labeling and keeping it chilled, plus the tea is a bit pricey. But once I sell this place, I’ll have that money.”

Sean choked on the sip of tea he’d just taken. Nothing like making her feel guilty. “Oh, don’t worry, Sean. I’ll think of something to do with you when I do.”

Sean coughed. “
Do
with me?”

“Well, yeah, you know, if I sell, you could be out of a job. But I figure anyone who can afford my asking price is going to be able to afford the monthly operating expenses as well, so they can keep you on as a condition of the sale. Or, if you’d like, I’ll roll your salary for say, what, two years, into the asking price. That way you don’t have to worry. I know how hard it is having your income pulled out from under you.”

He choked on the next swallow of tea.

Livvy hopped to her feet and pounded him on the back until his airway cleared. “You okay?”

He coughed, then coughed again, then swiped a hand across his mouth. “Uh, yeah. I’m good.”

He certainly was.

Livvy sighed as she sat back down in her chair. There. She’d told him. Now to get potential buyers to agree.

“How’d you come to be in this line of work?”

Sean looked up. “What?”

“I asked how you came to work as a maid. Lose a bet or something?”

There he went with the choking again. He downed his tea, coughed a whole bunch, and stuffed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth—probably not the best idea given all the choking, but he was still chewing as he stood up and carried his dishes over to the sink. “We really ought to get a look at that bible. I have a feeling this clue is going to take a lot more effort to figure out than the others.”

A
S
they headed back into the library, Sean tried not to be impressed. He tried not to like her. He tried to look away and put her out of his mind.

But he did none of those things.

Because, yeah, she impressed the hell out of him. She was so fiercely independent, so determinedly self-reliant, and so sweet to worry about him that he couldn’t help but admire her. As a human being.

As a woman . . . well, that was a whole
other
level of interest.

This was not going to end well. It couldn’t. By its very nature one of them would lose. Sean was torn between praying that, whichever way it shook out,
he
wasn’t the biggest loser, but that would mean Livvy would be and . . . shit.

The bible gave them a name—and, no, Livvy’s name wasn’t in there—but it didn’t give them anything else.

They pulled out a history book from her ancestor’s lifetime, but for the guy who was to raise the family to dynastic proportions, there was woefully little about him.

“So is there something on the property with his name on it?” Livvy asked as she set the book back on the shelf. “A statue or plaque or monument or something do you know?”

Sean had been over most of the grounds and the only statues he’d seen were of Greek or Roman gods. “Only thing I’ve seen honoring your ancestors is the hall of portraits. Maybe it’s there.”

So much for Livvy’s assertion that Merriweather didn’t want her to find the clue. This one was attached to the back of the portrait of Lawrence Martinson I, Livvy’s father’s namesake, whose only claim to fame was to have twelve children. Eleven of whom were girls.

“You’d think my grandmother wouldn’t have named her son after someone who’d let the family name down by not producing enough male offspring,” said Livvy, tapping the next clue that was sending her back to the public library again tomorrow. “But then, I guess she never expected him to fail the family so spectacularly by choosing my mother and, worse, producing me.”

As far as Sean was concerned, Livvy’s father ought to be commended for that. “The failure was Merriweather’s, Livvy. Maybe that’s
why
your father chose your mother. He wanted to live his life on his
terms, not Merriweather’s. Just like you.”

He knew it was the wrong thing to say the moment it left his mouth. Livvy had worked too hard to establish herself without the backing of the Martinson name. To compare her to the epitome of what she didn’t want to be . . . Sean braced himself for a rant.

Instead, he got a straightened backbone, a pair of narrowed eyes, and the most clipped voice he’d ever heard.

“I am
not
like my father and I never will be. I am
not
a Martinson.”

L
IKE
her father?
Livvy was still stewing about that conversation the next morning in the barn while she mucked out the stalls, the analogy for her life a little too close for comfort. She was
not
like her father. She was as far from being a Martinson as . . . as . . . as Reggie was.

Who was also
a little too close for comfort, butting her in the butt when she went into his stall.

“I know, Reg, but you can’t sleep in the house. Sean’s right. I can’t let you guys destroy it in a fit of pique. I want to get as much money as I can for the place. I’ll give you your own room when I redo our farm.” She petted his cheek. He liked that. He also liked her to scratch under his chin, too, but he was usually too “drool-y” and she didn’t have anything to wipe it off with. He purred as well as a pig could purr as he leaned into her hand.

Livvy had to sidestep to keep her balance. Reggie had gotten a lot stronger as he’d gotten bigger. This barn would be the perfect place for him. For all the animals. The peacocks apparently thought so. They’d even deigned to “accept” the chicken’s food.

Livvy shook her head as she shooed them away. She wasn’t staying. She had to get that out of her brain. Had Merriweather hoped the place would grow on her and she’d make it her home? Well, she had news for Merriweather Martinson, who, for all her money and her plans, didn’t
get
that timber and shingles didn’t make a home. Home was where she could feel safe. Rooted. It was her haven. Her spot in the world. This had never been and could never be that.

“Hello? Ms. Carolla?” A woman’s voice echoed through the barn accompanied by the excited snuffles of her so-
not
-watchdog dogs.

Livvy brushed her hands off. “Be right there.”

She hoisted the pitchfork onto a hook on the wall where Reggie couldn’t reach it and let herself out of his pen. A woman stood in the doorway, surrounded by the pack that were obviously willing to let her in with wagging tails. Livvy had always considered the dogs good judges of character. After what many of them had survived—neglect, cruelty, abandonment—they didn’t welcome strangers readily. It spoke well of this woman that they’d accepted her.

And Sean. They’d accepted him right away. Georgia even had a little crush on him.

Livvy could so relate.

Hello? Mind back on the matter—person
—
at hand.

“Um, yes?”

“Hi. I’m Mac Manley.” The woman walked toward her, hand outstretched. “I own Manley Maids.”

And here Livvy had thought
Sean
was the reason the company had that name. Still, a good marketing strategy to have manly maids.

“Nice to meet you.” Livvy shook her hand.

“I wanted to stop by to see how things were going. I always like to say hi to new clients, even though, technically the Martinson estate isn’t new, since we’ve been contracted for the last year. How’s Sean working out for you? Are you satisfied with his performance?”

Not yet . . .

Livvy coughed. Hmmm, she seemed to have caught his coughing bug. “Uh, yes. He’s doing a great job.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear it. I pride myself on giving my clients excellent service. So Sean’s everything you’d wanted?”

She was
such
the bad person for twisting this woman’s comments into something hot and sexy.

Livvy gathered the sides of her unbuttoned blouse together and overlapped them across her camisole before crossing her arms. “Uh, yes. It’s—he’s—fine.” He certainly was. In so many ways. He made her smile, and made her laugh. And he looked damn good doing so. “Has he worked for you long?”

Mac laughed. “Sean? Not long, but he’s good. I wouldn’t let him work for me otherwise. My clients’ satisfaction is my top priority.” She propped her hands on her hips. “So, are there any other needs you have that Manley Maids can fulfill?”

Livvy seriously needed to get her mind out of the gutter because she was ready to spout off a list that one certain Manley Maid
could
fulfill. “Uh, no. I think I’m good. Sean’s, uh, handling all aspects of the job just fine. He’s even helping me with a few extra projects.”

“Oh?”

Darn, even
she
could raise one eyebrow. “I’m planning to sell the place and he’s doing things like cleaning out these stalls to help me get it ready. They were packed with boxes and I didn’t have anywhere to put my animals.” She told her about the incident in the salon. “He was more than a little put out.”

“I can see how he would be.” Mac crossed her arms and tapped her fingers on her arm.

“He’s very conscientious.”

“Isn’t he, though?” Mac looked around.

“And he’s helping me with a scavenger hunt.”

“A what?”

Livvy explained about Merriweather’s bizarre idea of a joke. “So if I don’t get all the clues to Mr. Scanlon in the next two weeks, I lose the estate.”

“And Sean’s helping you look?”

“Yes. It’s really nice of him.”

“Isn’t it just?” Mac pulled a business card from her pocket and handed it to Livvy. “Here’s my card. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call me. I like to keep my customers happy.”

Livy wanted to say that Sean did, too, but she was worried that she’d gushed a little too much about him. She didn’t want Mac getting the wrong idea about her and Sean.

M
AC
had a damn good idea what Sean was up to with Livvy. And she wanted to kill him. No
wonder
he’d jumped on the Martinson estate the minute she’d mentioned it.

She’d thought she’d have to convince him, but no.
This
was the place he was planning to buy. She knew all about the big property he was in negotiations to turn into his luxury resort. Knew, too, that Liam and Bryan were in on it. She’d been a little bummed that she hadn’t been able to get in on the action, but her bank account couldn’t compete with theirs, which was why she’d had to resort to cardsharping at the poker game.

But this made sense. Sean had been a little
too
accepting of one of her biggest clients. She’d come out today to check in, to make sure everything was okay, and talk to the two of them about publicity shots, both for the estate and for Manley Maids.

But with Sean trying to sabotage Livvy, that option was out.

It wouldn’t look good when it came out that Manley Maids had put
him in the position
to
sabotage her. If he succeeded, Manley Maids’ name would be dragged through the mud. Suddenly her little poker bet took on ramifications of epic proportions.

Winners never cheat and cheaters never win.
Gran must have said that a thousand times during her childhood.

But she
hadn’t
cheated. Not really. Counting cards was a talent; it wasn’t as if she’d palmed any of them. She’d just known with a reasonable certainty that she’d had the high hand that last round. She wouldn’t have bet her company, her future, on a whim unless she’d been reasonably certain of winning.

But she’d never seen this coming.

She parked at the back entrance to the house and strode toward the door, stubbing her toe on a dislodged brick in the walkway. She made a mental note to tell Sean about that. He could add that to his other “special projects” list.

She found him in the salon, rolling up the rug that must be the one the goats chewed.

“I hear you’ve got ulterior motives.”

“Hey, Mac.” He looked up, his hair mussed and his face a bit sweaty. Damn, he was a good-looking man, and if she could only advertise him like that, she’d have women offering double for his services.

The jerk.

“Don’t
hey Mac
me, Sean. I know what you’re up to and I’m telling you to stop. You don’t get to sabotage Livvy’s inheritance and my company for some stupid resort that people with too much money don’t need. They can go to the Catskills if they’re so hell-bent on roughing it in luxury.”

“Mac, calm down.”

“No I will
not
calm down. This is
my
business.
My
livelihood we’re talking about. How
could
you? How could you do this to me? I trusted you.”

“You think I
like
the idea, Mac? Trust me, it’s the last thing I want to do.” He didn’t deny it, thankfully. Not that she would have believed him, but at least he wasn’t lying to her face. By omission, yes, but the pot couldn’t really call the kettle black on this one.

“The project’s too far along at this point. I’ve invested almost everything I have in this. I have money out for inspections and architecture and engineering reviews. Design fees and interest and a whole bunch of other expenses I’ll lose if this deal doesn’t happen. Business is business, but I’m trying to come up with a way so no one gets hurt because it’ll break me if it doesn’t happen.”

“You’re not the only one, Sean. This is
my
business. If you do this, if word gets out, I’ll be finished.”

“I’ll give you the contract here. Nothing will change.”

“
Everything
will change. First of all, nepotism is as dirty a word as some others I can think of and I shouldn’t need nepotism to keep a contract I got on my own in the first place. I’ve worked hard to keep it. And what about Livvy? What do you think she’s going to do when she finds out?”

“It should never have been an issue, Mac. Everything was falling into place until Merriweather had a last-minute change of heart and pulled a fast one. I had to react. For all of us: you, me, Liam, Bryan. Gran.

“Don’t you bring Gran into this, Sean. Don’t you dare. She’s completely innocent of any of this.” Mac bit her lip. That wasn’t exactly true, but Gran hadn’t been the one who’d counted the cards. “And if you think this was last minute on Merriweather’s part, you obviously didn’t know her very well. She never did anything last minute. If she was going to change her will, you can be damn sure she knew exactly
what
and exactly
why
she was doing it, and she definitely knew
how
she was doing it. For some reason, she led you on. Promised you things she might have had no intention of delivering. But she’d also been working the Livvy angle. This was no fluke. That woman didn’t make fly-by-night decisions. Ever. Trust me. She had a plan.”

Sean sat on the rug. “Okay. Fine. Whatever, but the fact is, I need this place. I’ve got a lot of money tied up in it.”

“So buy it like anyone else would.”

He cocked his head. “The budget’s not there.”

“Then you shouldn’t have bitten off more than you can chew.”

“I didn’t. All my plans were based on numbers she gave me. The numbers I still have a chance of hitting if Livvy doesn’t inherit. Then the property’s mine.”

“How can you do that to her? Hasn’t she been through enough with this family? Now you’re going to steal the one thing they’ve finally given her? How can you live with yourself, Sean?”

He swiped a hand over his mouth. “It’s complicated, Mac.”

“Yeah, no kidding. And you’re dragging me down with you.” She put her hands on her hips. “I’m sorry, Sean, but you’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me.”

“I just did.”

“I could tell her you knew all about it.”

“You’re blackmailing me?”

“No. But I could.”

“So you are.”

“No, Mac, I’m not. I’m trying to salvage this for everyone, but if I leave now, that’s it. It’s done. Over. I lose. Guaranteed. Give me until Livvy’s deadline. I’ll come up with something.”

Mac stared at him. She shouldn’t. She really shouldn’t. She needed to think of her company. Of her reputation.

But she also thought about all the times her brothers had stood up for her. Had protected her. Had helped her and Gran. They were good guys. All of them. If Sean said he’d find a way for it to work for everyone, she had to give him that shot. How many times had they cut her some slack? “Fine. But only if you can find another way.”

“I’m working on it, Mac.”

She exhaled and turned around. She had to get started on Liam and Bryan’s promo because Sean’s was a lost cause. “I can’t believe I—”

“You what?”

“Nothing. Never mind.” No way was she going to spill
The Plan
. The one she’d started and Gran had joined in with.

She’d wanted to use her wealthy, good-looking brothers as promotional tools, totally capitalizing on the play on their last name and how good they looked in those uniforms. Gran had wanted to find them women to fall in love with, and what better way than putting them in those women’s homes? Mac had seen the instant benefit to herself: Gran would be busy with her brothers’ love lives and stay out of hers.

It’d been perfect. So when Mr. Scanlon had called her to discuss Manley Maids’ contract and had mentioned Livvy would be arriving, she’d done her research. When she saw Livvy’s picture, she’d figured Sean wouldn’t be able to resist.
That
was why she’d offered him the Martinson estate. If only she’d known this was the place he was planning to buy, she would have done things differently.

Karma was paying her back in spades for those five hearts she’d thrown on the poker table.