What a Woman Wants (A Manley Maids Novel) (15 page)

She ran her hands over his chest, swirling the hair with her fingertips, then tugging on it ever so gently. “Why do you think I said it?”

He went willingly into her, groaning again, his lips fastening on hers as he once more laid her back against the granite, what was rocking between her legs just as hard. Livvy wanted him. Badly. Or,
goodly
, actually. Though he could be bad if he wanted. Whatever he wanted, she was as up for it as he was.

And that was quite
a lot.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, wanting to absorb him into her, returning each thrust of his tongue with one of hers, answering every grind against her pelvis with a give-and-take of her own.

“I want you, Sean,” she gasped when he let her come up for air—only to steal it by gently biting the curve of her neck.

“I want you, too, Livvy,” he whispered, his breath hot against her skin.

Sean
was hot against her skin, in all facets of that word.

“
I want you, too, Livvy
,” came a squawk from above them.

Great. Orwell added something new to his repertoire.

Then he dropped a present on the countertop next to her.

Way to kill the moment.

“Sean.” Livvy didn’t want
to end this, but while she was all for being in the moment with hot sweaty sex, she wasn’t up for rolling around in bird
presents
. “Sean.” She tugged his head back. “Sean, we have to stop.”

S
TOP?
Sean stared down at her, her eyes wide, her skin flushed, with a just-kissed puffiness to her lips that grabbed him by the gut and twisted. Holy hell, she was gorgeous. He didn’t want to stop. And neither did she.

She wanted him. Laid out before him, her nipples let him know just how much she wanted him, her chest fluttering with the shallow breaths she was making no attempt to disguise . . . she didn’t want him to stop. She was as into this moment as he was.

And then Orwell broke into the moment with another inappropriately timed, “
I want you, too, Livvy
.”

Damn bird.

Sean might have ignored the stupid thing, but he saw what was on the counter next to Livvy’s gorgeous hair, and well, yeah. That was kind of a mood killer.

And then there was a whole bunch of scratching on the back door, which
totally
wiped out the moment.

And then the howling started.

Howling?

“Ringo!” This time it was Livvy who pulled away, swinging her leg up and around in front of him so that, if he’d been prepared for it, he would have gotten quite the show, but because he wasn’t, it was over before he knew it. Her skirt fluttered around her thighs as she twisted on the counter, did some sort of gymnastic move, and ended up beside him for the space of a heartbeat before flouncing—
again
with the flounce—over to the door. She flung it open, catching it just before it smashed into that triple-thick granite countertop, then flung her arms open to receive the biggest, wettest kiss outside of the one he’d just given her.

The dogs came barreling in, the rottie practically trampling Livvy to get in her arms. Great. An even more effective buzz kill than Orwell’s little “gift.”

“Hey, Liv. Quite the welcoming committee you’ve got there.” A big guy walked in the back door.

A big,
good-looking
guy who was familiar enough with Livvy to call her
Liv,
who carried yet another dog with him. Not that that thing could really be called a dog. It was more of a dust mop with legs. With a bow on its head. A purple one. It looked like it ought to belong to the over-accessorized Cassidy Davenport instead of bohemian Livvy Carolla.

“Sorry about that, Kerry. I’m sure they miss you.” Livvy ruffled the rottie’s steam shovel–like jowls.

The little puff ball in the guy’s arms growled and wriggled around. Sean put on his shirt, taking the opportunity to smile. The puff ball reminded him of Livvy: inappropriately dressed for the situation and too small to make a difference, but going at it full force while packing a growl or two.

Like the ones he’d gotten out of her a few minutes ago.

“Kerry, you forgot Mr. Choo’s booties. I just had his nails done.” Another guy walked in and plucked the puff ball from Kerry’s hold. “Mr. Choo, you settle down this instant or I’ll let John have his way with you.”

The doglet must have understood because it shut up mid-squeak.

But then Orwell decided to join the party. “
I want you, too, Livvy
.”

Kerry, the other guy, and Livvy just blinked at the bird. Sean wanted to fricassee it.

“
I want you—squawk
!”

Instead, he settled for scooping the thing up and walking it across to the disaster zone across the hall. He tossed the parrot into the air and the damn thing flew to the highest perch in the room where it’d be impossible to get it down from.
Of course.

“
I want you, too, Livvy
.”

Great. Now the words reverberated along the high ceiling.

Sean closed the French doors and returned to the kitchen. Damn bird.

The three of them all looked up guiltily from where they’d huddled over the end of the island.

“Am I interrupting something?”

The other guy nudged Kerry. “I think that’s our question.”

Livvy blushed, and the sight dug into Sean’s psyche and started growing roots.

He brushed the parrot feathers off his hands and held one out, walking toward them. “Hi, I’m Sean.”

The other guy took it. “I’m Sherwood. But you can call me Sher.” He said it as if it began with a
C
instead of an
S.

Kerry rolled his eyes and tapped
Sher
out of the way. “I’m Kerry. We live with Livvy.”

“Live . . . with?” Sean couldn’t stop the words, nor the sinking feeling in his gut.

“He means at the co-op.” Sher swatted Kerry in the stomach. “We’re the next plot over. We were out antiquing today and thought we’d make the drive to see the place.”

Why should it bother him? He didn’t
want
it to bother him. Then again, he didn’t want
her
to bother him, but he wasn’t getting what he wanted on that front, either.

“Welcome to the Martinson estate.” He got his head out of the damn clouds and shook Kerry’s hand, even if he did practically choke on those words.
Martinson estate.
That was going to change the minute the place was his.
If
the place was his.

“Quite the snazzy set-up here, Livs.” Sher trailed a hand along the countertop and walked around the edge of the bar. “Care to give us the grand tour?”

“
I want you, too, Livvy.”

Damn bird was loud.

“Sure!” Livvy said almost as loudly, and way too brightly, keeping her gaze firmly averted from Sean’s while she tucked another strand of hair behind her ears.

She was doing that a lot lately and Sean found it endearing. Of course, the more time he spent with her, the more he found endearing. As Orwell was attesting to like a broken record.

He ought to put some distance between them. Keep it professional. Remember the ultimate goal. Stay far, far away from her.

It worked in theory.

Livvy headed back toward the doorway that led into the foyer, and her pack of dogs jumped to their feet to trail after her like, well, puppies.

Thankfully, she stopped in the doorway, held her hand, and said, “Stay.”

And just like that, they all plunked their furry butts down, tongues lolling out of their mouths, tails thumping on the floor, and didn’t take even one whiney, groveling belly-crawl toward her. Though the looks in their eyes were hopeful.

But Livvy spun around, that ruffled skirt sailing around her legs, and headed into the foyer.

Kerry patted Sean on the shoulder as he passed. “Don’t try to rationalize it. Animals just
get
her.”

“What is she, the dog whisperer?”

Kerry shrugged. “There’s just something about Livvy that makes animals want to do whatever she tells them to.”

Considering he’d felt like one when she’d been on the countertop, Sean got it, too.

S
O
do tell about the treasure hunt, Livs.” Sher hefted Mr. Choo under one arm and tucked his other through hers as they headed up the front staircase. “Kerry mentioned your grandmother is a poet?”

Behind her, Sean snorted.

Livvy smiled. “I don’t know that
poet
is the right word, but she did seem to have a penchant for rhyming.”

“To what end? I mean, why not just come out and tell you what you’re supposed to know or find or look for or whatever? What does she get with you running around like a pretty little chickie without a head? She’s never going to see it since she’s dead.”

“Sensitive,” muttered Kerry. But Kerry of all people should know that no sensitivity was required when it came to the Martinsons. Livvy had been done with them ages ago.

She ran her hand along the banister she’d slid down the other day. “Who knows? I didn’t understand her while she was alive and her death hasn’t made things any clearer. All I know is that the lawyer said I can’t inherit this place unless I present him with the last clue.”

“So you don’t have to give him all the others? Then we ought to be looking for the last one and be done with this interim nonsense.”

“This interim
nonsense
,” said Sean, who’d been way too quiet since their kiss earlier, “is leading us to that clue.”

Kiss?
Be real. That wasn’t just a kiss. That was an interrupted prelude to something she hadn’t had in a really long time. Like maybe, never. Sure, she’d had sex before—hot sex, too—but losing herself in the act as she’d done with Sean, and they hadn’t even
had
sex. Um, no. Nothing had ever been like that before. No
one
had ever been like that for her before.

She tried to stop the blush that blazed across her cheeks, hating that she couldn’t. Blushes didn’t go well with her red hair and pale skin. She always thought she looked like she had a fever when she blushed, and no one looked good when they were sick. And, yes, she did want to look good for Sean because he brought something to life inside of her, something Livvy was afraid to examine. Examining it would make it real. It’d define it.
Name
it. She didn’t want to do that because the minute she defined something, be it a friendship, acquaintance, roommate, family member . . . it all disappeared. She’d spent way too many holidays alone to not learn that forming bonds with people only led to heartache.

That’s why she adopted animals. That’s why she lived on a co-op. The people she lived with, like Kerry and Sherwood, and Jenny and Sheila and Marci; they were all on the same wavelength. All geared toward a common goal. It wasn’t a goal that had to do with personal relationships, but rather a means of survival. A you-scratch-my-back-I’ll-scratch-yours existence. And that was okay with her. She could depend on that. She could live with that. Everyone working together meant that everyone did what they said they were going to do. They made the commitment and they lived up to it. Because if they didn’t, if they didn’t bring anything to the table—literally and figuratively—they were voted off. It was one big reality show without the cameras. Or the monetary payoff. But some things were more important than money. That place proved it.

“Leading
us
to the clue?” Sher looked over his shoulder at Sean as they reached the second floor. “Treasure hunting is part of your duties? My, you
are
a jack of all trades, aren’t you?” He peered into Livvy’s room. “Nice bed you got there, sweetie. A little too big for one, though, isn’t it?”

He raised an eyebrow at Sean.

She knew they cared about her, but Livvy could only take so much innuendo given what he and Kerry had interrupted. She’d reached her quota for the day. Possibly the year. “The dogs sleep with me.”

“Pity.”

No kidding.

“Anyhow, this is my room and Sean’s is over there.” She pointed across the hall two doors down. Not close enough, yet not too far. It epitomized their relationship—well the one they’d had up until the interrupted
kiss.

Sher was noncommittal as he crossed the hall to look inside. Even more noncommittal when he walked away. She understood why, too: Sean’s room was just that: a room. It didn’t have any of his personal effects other than two duffel bags, his Manley Maids uniforms, a couple of sets of workout clothes and jeans, some sneakers, his toiletries, and a book on his bedside table. It was an old thriller, but a good one. He must be one of those people who kept favorite books to read over and over again.

And no she hadn’t been snooping through his things; she’d been searching for clues. Just like Merriweather wanted her to do.

That was her story and she was sticking to it.

“The rest of this hall is filled with bedrooms if you want to take a look,” she said, wanting to get them all away from Sean’s room—herself especially. Again, quota met. “Or we could go to the nursery on the third floor.”

“Nursery? As in babies?” Sher raised both eyebrows this time.

He got a smile out of her, which she was sure was his intention in the first place.
He
wouldn’t mind if she started popping out kids. He wanted to be a favorite uncle; he’d told her that every time she’d said she was never having children. Her own childhood hadn’t been a sterling example so what reason did she have to think she could do a better job? Though she certainly couldn’t do worse.

“So where are these clues?”

“If they knew that then it wouldn’t be much of a treasure hunt, now would it?” Kerry ran his hands over the wallpaper. “Nice. Damascene, I believe. Costly but elegant.”

Of course it was. “Merriweather could afford it.”

“The old girl could afford a lot of things.” Sher picked up a piece of crystal from one of the pointless little tables that lined the hallway. Livvy had already checked the drawers for clues, but nope. Not even a match book or stray rubber band. Completely pointless. Just like the other twenty-seven rooms in the place.

Of course, Sher didn’t think so. He was all for claiming one as his own personal boudoir for visits, another for his study, still another for an office . . . The list went on. Livvy actually started to enjoy herself as they walked down the long hallway, playing lady of the manor and almost forgetting her real purpose in being here.

But then she’d see Sean checking a piece of furniture, or running his hands over the lintel, peeking behind the picture frames, and the bittersweet reality would come roaring in. Sure, she could own the place, but she’d have to prove herself yet again. Would she come up lacking once more?

“So how many more do you have to find?” Sher asked as they headed back to the kitchen.

“I don’t know. Merriweather didn’t say. Typical.” She pushed open the door and was immediately bombarded by puppy love. Big puppies, pushy puppies, some not-so-puppies . . . This was why she had the dogs and the other animals. This universal, undemanding, totally accepting love.

She plunked her butt onto the closest chair and hugged as many of the wiggling furry bodies as she could while dodging the slobbery kisses they were intent on bestowing. There was only one person’s kisses she wanted and he was standing across the kitchen, smiling and shaking his head at her.

“Is that a Hodgeson?”

“A what?” Livvy asked, looking where Sher pointed.

“A Hodgeson. That tea set. They’re pretty rare.”

“If they’re rare and worth something, I’ll go with a yes. Merriweather would have only the best.”

Sher handed Mr. Choo to Kerry then picked up the creamer. “It is.” He showed it to them. “From the mid-eighteen hundreds is my guess. The company created custom pieces for members of the
ton
and did commemorative work for the Crown.” He picked up the sugar bowl. “Very
chi-chi
to have one of these hanging around. Someone must have done something important to get one of these. You come from some pretty upper-crust stock, Livs.”

“Which has gotten me all of where?” She took the sugar bowl from him and set it down.

“Well, here for starters.”

“And the plus in that is . . . ?”

“Because you ended up next door to us, and Kerry and I want to take you away from all of it this weekend.” Sher took Mr. Choo back from his partner and tightened the topknot bow.

“I’m kind of on a deadline, Sher.”

“I get that, sweetie, but you’re going to die when you hear why.”

“Okay, I’ll bite.”

Sherwood fluttered his eyelashes, put a hand to his chest, and only needed that gold dress and a subway vent for his Marilyn Monroe impersonation. “
We
have a booth at the Tri-State Farmer’s Market this Sunday.”

He might be a bit of a drama queen, but in this instance, Sher was fully justified.

“How? I thought they were booked solid like eight months ago.” Back when she’d been struggling to come up with the funds to pay for the leaky roof and hadn’t had any extra cash for the registration fee. The Tri-State Market was the largest in the area, and sales from even one day could pay her rent for months. If she failed Merriweather’s
little test
, she’d need that money.

“They were booked. But Philip Johnson knows a girl named Mary who works for a guy whose sister-in-law runs the whole shindig, and when they got the cancellation, Mary overheard and was on the phone to Philip. He already has his booth, but he knew we were interested and voila! We’re in. We want you to join us. Think of the crowds. The business we could do. I’m planning to unload our entire inventory.”

She’d always done well at the market. Lots of referral business for the rest of the year and the exposure helped build name recognition. She’d been bummed to miss it this year. “But it’s a two-night trip. Who will I get to take care of the animals on such short notice? Richard signed up all the college kids for his place, and you guys are going with me. That’s why I brought them here in the first place.”

“I’m sure we can find someone.” Sher tapped his lips. “There is that new guy, what’s his name? Matthew, Mark, Mike . . . Something with an
mmmmm
.”

Kerry rolled his eyes. Livvy hid a giggle. For all Sher’s flirtatiousness, he was utterly devoted to Kerry and they all knew it.

“Well, no matter. I’m sure we can come up with someone.”

“Uh, hello?” Sean set down the spray bottle he was using to clean up after Orwell. “I can do it.”

“But you don’t even like my animals,” said Livvy.

“It’s not that I don’t like them; it’s just that there are so many of them.”

“And they eat antiques.”

“Well, yeah.” He smiled and it did funny little flippy things to her stomach. “There’s that.”

“And they leave presents all over the place.”

“That, too.” His smile got bigger—and so did the flippy things.

Not optimal with Sher and Kerry staring at her so intently—and her hormones reacting so intensely to the memory. And to his smile. “But it’s not in your job description.”

“Oh, I’m sure a little bonus in his pocket would eradicate that worry, Livs,” Sher piped in with enough innuendo that even the dogs knew what he meant.

“Watch it, Sherwood.” Sean put his hands on his hips, the action stretching that shirt he’d had off an hour ago over the abs and pecs she’d run her hands all over and, oh, the memory—

“I’m
offering
to help, so you can keep your insinuations to yourself.”

Blush number two hundred and thirteen started. How sweet was it that Sean rushed to her defense? How strange it felt, too, because no one had ever done that for her before. But sweet won out over strange, and she let the warmth of his action spread through her. If that caused another blush, so be it.

Then he leaned onto the countertop and her blush happened for a whole other reason.

“The hell with the job description, Livvy,” Sean went on as if he weren’t leaning over the
very same spot
he’d been leaning over her before Sher and Ker had shown up. “We pretty much shot that when the animals ate the rug and I made that pen for them. And then there’s the barn clean-out.” Not to mention the kissing-on-the-countertop thing. “I think we’re redefining my job as we go along.”

“This sounds interesting.” Sher leaned a hip against the ice machine and crossed his arms.

Kerry swatted his shoulder.

Livvy brushed her hair back. “But it’s in less than two days. I don’t have anything ready.”

“Sweetie,” said Sher. “I’ve seen you work. You’re a whirlwind in your tiny kitchen; imagine what you can do in this place. You’ve got all day tomorrow, and Mr. Volunteer here can help out with that, too, since he apparently can do anything.”

Sean raised an eyebrow at him. “Uh, yeah. Sure. I can help.”

“There, see? It’s all settled.” Sher straightened and swatted Kerry back. “Let’s get going so these two have time to strategize tomorrow’s baking extravaganza. Plus, I need to price out those corkscrews we found. I have a feeling they’re going to be big sellers.”

Kerry rolled his eyes as he followed Sher toward the door. “Pirates,” he said to her and Sean. “He bought
pirate
corkscrews, with the screw part in an, um, interesting location. I think he’s going to have a harder time passing them off as a ‘family friendly’ item than meeting any big demand, but if it makes him happy . . .” Kerry pulled the door behind. “See you tomorrow, Liv. About five.” He looked at Sean. “Nice meeting you.”