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Eight
The farmhouse’s great room looked brand-new and James couldn’t take all of the credit. It was because the house had good bones and old-world charm—qualities he’d never appreciated in anything before.
Hell, maybe he’d never even noticed them before.
Bella finished polishing the last silver candlestick and stuck it back on the mantel of the humongous fireplace, humming a nameless tune that he’d grown a bit fond of over the past day as they’d worked side by side to get their lover’s retreat set to rights.
“Did you hear that?” she asked with a cocked head.
“Uh, no.” He’d been too busy soaking in the sight of a beautiful woman against the backdrop of the deep maroon walls and dark furniture. “What was it?”
“The sound of success.”
She smiled and that heavy feeling in his chest expanded a tad more, which had been happening with alarming frequency all day. Unfortunately, the coping mechanism he’d used last night—grabbing Bella and sinking into her as fast as possible so his mind went blessedly blank—wasn’t available to him at this moment because a workman from the municipality was on his way to restore the water connection.
It was a minor miracle the workman had come out on short notice, given the typical local bureaucracy, but once James had mentioned that he was a representative for the Montoros, everything had fallen into place.
He’d have to make himself—and his distinctive green car—scarce. Just as he’d done this morning when the bloke from the electric company had come. But it was fine. The time away had given him an opportunity to talk through strategy with his sports agent, who mentioned a possible opportunity with Liverpool. No guarantees, but some shifting had occurred in the roster and the club needed a strong foot. Brilliant news at an even better time—the sooner James could escape Alma, the better.
“Yep,” he said and cleared a catch from his throat. “Only twenty-seven rooms to go.”
They’d started on the downstairs, focusing on the kitchen and great room, plus the servant’s quarters past the kitchen, where they intended to sleep tonight if the bed they’d ordered arrived on time, as promised. A lot had been accomplished in one day but not nearly enough.
Once they got the master bedroom upstairs cleaned up, James planned a whole silk-sheets-and-rose-petals-type seduction scene. He owed it to Bella since she’d been such a good sport about sleeping in the room designated for the help.
One thing he immensely appreciated about Bella: she joked around a lot about being high maintenance but she was the furthest thing from it. And he knew a difficult, demanding woman when he saw one, like his last semipermanent girlfriend, Chelsea. She’d cured him of ever wanting to be around a female for more than a one-night stand, a rule which he’d stuck to for nearly two years.
Until Bella.
Since he couldn’t lose his mind in her fragrant skin for...he glanced at his watch and groaned...hours, he settled for a way-too-short kiss.
She wiggled away and stuck her tongue out at him. “Yes, we have a lot of work left. But not as much as we would have if you hadn’t made all those calls. You’re the main reason we’ve gotten this far.”
The hero-worship in her gaze still made him uncomfortable, so he shrugged and polished an already-sparkling crystal bowl with the hem of his shirt so he had an excuse not to look directly at her. “Yeah, that was a brilliant contribution. Hitting some numbers on my phone.”
“Stop being such a goof.” Hands on her hips, she stepped into his space, refusing to let his attention linger elsewhere. “You’re a great person. I’m allowed to think so and don’t you dare tell me I can’t.”
That pulled a smile from him. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“Anyway,” she drawled with an exaggerated American accent, which only widened his smile, as she’d probably intended. “When I was cleaning the fireplace, I realized I really need to call my father. We can’t ignore the press release about my engagement to Will much longer.”
Though she kept up her light tone, he could tell some stress had worked its way into her body. Her shoulders were stiff and a shadow clouded her normally clear eyes.
“Maybe we can wait,” he suggested, and laced his fingers with hers to rub her knuckles. “Tomorrow’s soon enough.”
“I kind of want to get it over with.” She bit her lip, clearly torn. “But I also really like the idea of procrastinating.”
“Why?” he asked, surprising himself. He’d meant to say they should wait. Why do today what you can put off until tomorrow?
