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“Why didn’t you stop them?”
“Until that wedding ring is on my finger, I don’t have any real authority here.” She set down the roller and studied the longest wall. “April wants me to paint a mural.”
She didn’t sound happy about it, but he liked the idea of Blue painting a mural a hell of a lot better than he liked having his parents painting his kitchen. It would also keep her in place for a while longer. “I’ll have my PR people send you a dozen of my best action shots,” he said. “You can pick the most flattering.”
She smiled as he’d hoped, but then the furrow between her eyebrows crept deeper. “I don’t do landscapes anymore.”
“Too bad.” He opened his wallet and pulled out two hundred dollars in cash. “Here’s the hundred dollars I borrowed plus the other hundred from that ill-advised bet. I believe in clearing up my debts.”
As he expected, she didn’t leap to take the money but studied it instead.
“A deal’s a deal,” he said, all innocence. “You earned it.” When she still didn’t take it, he slipped the bills into the pocket of her saggy T-shirt, lingering only a moment longer than necessary. She might not have a whole lot there, but she had enough for him. Now all he needed was unlimited access.
“A deal with the devil,” she said glumly. He concealed his triumph as she retrieved the money, stared at it for a moment, then shoved it into his pocket, unfortunately without lingering at all. “Give this to a charity that keeps women off the streets.”
Poor Beav. He could have told her when he placed the bet that her scruples would keep her from holding on to the cash, but he hadn’t made All Pro by being stupid. “Well, if you’re sure.”
She turned back to peruse the walls. “If you think I could unfold some groundbreaking artistic vision in here, you’d be in for a big disappointment. My landscapes are beyond ordinary.”
“As long as you don’t paint anything too girly, I’d be happy. No ballet dancers or old-time ladies carrying around umbrellas. And nothing with dead rabbits lying on
plates.”
“No worries there. Ballet dancers and dead rabbits would be way too innovative for me.” She turned away. “Life’s too short. I’m not doing it.”
Now that she’d planted the idea in his head, he wasn’t ready to set it aside, but he’d wait a while before he pressed her. “Where’s my dog?”
She kneaded her shoulder, working out a kink. “I believe your manly companion Puffy is having a picnic in the backyard with Riley.”
He pretended to be leaving but turned around just before he got to the hallway. “I should have remembered to tell you this, especially when I know how anxious you are to get those doors back on. Before I left for Chicago, I paid a visit to the man who’s refinishing them. He lives in the next county—out of boycott range—so I was able to convince him to speed things along. They’ll be done any day now.”
Her eyes flashed. “You bribed him.”
“Merely an incentive bonus.”
“Life sure is easier when you’re rich.”
“And a natural born charmer. Don’t forget that part.”
“How could I?” she retorted. “It’s the only thing we have in common.”
He smiled. “That bedroom door had better fit nice and tight. Just the way I like it.”
By the time Dean got back from his paint run, it was well after five. The house was quiet, and except for the dining nook, the kitchen had a fresh coat of yellow paint. Jack’s black SUV was missing, so he and Riley must have taken off for dinner. So far today, Dean had managed to avoid all of them, and he intended to keep it that way. He breathed in the smell of fresh paint and new wood. He’d pictured himself owning a home with palm trees and a view of the Pacific, but he loved this farmhouse with its one hundred acres. As soon as he got rid of his houseguests, it would be perfect. Except for Blue. He’d missed her this weekend, and he wasn’t ready for her to go anywhere yet.
As he set the paint in the kitchen, he heard the shower go on. He retrieved the packages he’d left in his car then went upstairs, where he set the sacks on the floor by his suitcases and gazed toward the bathroom door. Blue’s paint-spattered clothes lay in a puddle on the floor. Only a real pervert would push back that plastic she’d insisted he hang over the door, and nobody had ever accused him of being a pervert. Instead, he’d leave the plastic alone and wait here like the gentleman he was for her to come out.
Hopefully naked.
The water stopped. He stripped off his shirt and tossed it aside, a cheesy move, but she liked his chest. He gazed at the fluttering plastic and told himself not to get his hopes up. There was a distinct possibility she’d come out in combat boots and camouflage gear.
He was in luck. She wore only a white towel hiked up to her armpits. Not nearly as good as naked, but at least he could see her legs. His gaze followed a trickle of water sliding down the inside of one trim thigh.
“Out!” Looking like a provoked water nymph, she stabbed her finger toward the hallway.
“My room,” he said.
“I have dibs.”
