“I slay what dragons I must for my queen.”
“You only live a block away.”
He shrugged. “It’s in my contract.”
She shifted her attention from the dirt to his face. She sighed. “I knew I should’ve asked for more money.”
CHAPTER ♦ THREE
Amanda should’ve known it wouldn’t last. A week of uneasy peace was more than she’d expected. Con and his men had worked outside all week painting the keep white to make it look as though the stones had been lime-washed.
She knew this because each day she spent her lunch hour in recreational babe-watching. Con might own the company, but he worked right alongside his men—shirt—less, muscles rippling, skin gleaming with sweat. Hot visuals equaled fever. After each lunch hour, she jacked up the air to Arctic level.
She hadn’t left the castle much except when she drove into Houston to buy furnishings, rugs, and accessories that would put her unique signature on the castle. They hadn’t been together, ergo no fighting. The separation hadn’t done a thing to ease the sexual tension, though. Like the Gulf tides, it rose and fell with regularity, although each day high tide lasted a little longer.
Shutting down her notebook, she stared at the blank wall of the great hall. A soon to be cream wall. She didn’t think Con was a cream kind of guy. Amanda sighed. He’d fight her. And even if she won, she’d lose, because she’d bet he believed in payback.
Which made her think about this morning. No more peaceful coexistence. She’d peeked outside and watched as he took up where he’d left off a week ago. Red trim. Rushing outside, she’d ordered him to cease and desist. Words were spoken, then shouted. Without warning, he’d grown quiet and said he’d paint the damned trim white. Yes. She’d won, she’d won. She maintained her dignity until she was safely back in the castle. Then she allowed herself a mini victory dance. Only afterward did she pause to wonder why he’d given in so easily. Amanda knew enough about Conleth Maguire to figure he was probably planning to run right around her defensive line into the end zone.
The object of her worry swung wide the castle doors and strode into the great hall bringing the smell of fresh paint with him. Wet paint was a sexy smell.
“Done for the day?” Duh, yes. Like you haven’t timed down to the second what time he quits each day?
Con nodded. “I’m heading up to my room so I can take a shower.” He glanced at her. “You have a line between your eyes. Doing some deep thinking?”
It never occurred to her to tell the truth. She wasn’t sure what that said about the deteriorating state of her character. “Sweetie Pie is still droopy. I tried talking dirty to her. She perked up a little, but when she realized I wasn’t following up my talk with action, she went back to being sad. Any ideas?”
His laugh was incredulous. “Is this a trick question? What do you think my idea is?”
“Sex. Right. Forget I asked.” She couldn’t make love with Con, because he was the one man who might be able to compete with her career. She didn’t want to be conflicted. Amanda would just let Sweetie Pie wilt and die. Then she’d deliver the dead body to Holgarth with appropriate regrets. “Oh, you can start painting the great hall as soon as you get the paint.”
He stilled. A dangerous quiet that spoke of silent predators crouched in jungle shadows.
“Meow.”
Hmm. As jungle predators went, that was pretty weak. Wait. That wasn’t Con, it was . . . Amanda glanced down. Deimos stared up. He crouched. She put a protective arm across her notebook. He leaped. She closed her eyes as he slid across the small table and fell off the other end. At least he hadn’t taken her notebook with him.
“What color, Mandy?” Now that was how a true jungle cat should sound, all husky and threatening.
Mandy watched as Deimos picked himself up, sat down to wash his face, and then casually padded away as if he’d never wanted to be on the dumb table anyway.
“Color?” Con shifted closer.
He was down to one-word questions. Not a good sign. Amanda figured she’d better answer before he abandoned words altogether and resorted to action. Even though the threat of action kind of turned her on, action probably involved touching. And right now her sexual tension tide was almost at flood stage. No, touching would not be a good thing.
“Cream.”
“Last time I looked, this was the Castle of Dark Dreams, not a dessert.” Anger simmered and bubbled just below the surface of his self-control. “This room needs rich sensual colors. Had any dark dreams lately, sweet-heat? I bet they weren’t decorated in cream.”
Okay, no more Ms. Congeniality. “Why do you care? Most men wouldn’t give a damn what color I painted this room.” She couldn’t wait for his answer, so she answered herself. “I’ll tell you why. It’s because I chose cream. You would’ve hated any color I chose. What’s your freaking problem, Maguire?” Wow, she’d scared herself. She sounded like the seventeen-year-old girl who’d lusted after Con Maguire. The one who’d liked clingy purple tops, heated arguments, and loud laughter. But it felt good on a strictly emotional level.
His mood seemed to improve in direct proportion to her anger. “I think we need to discuss this. Go out and check to make sure I didn’t paint any of your trim red, because you know that’s what you want to do. Then come up to my room and we’ll . . . consult.” His grin was wide, taunting, and sexy as hell.
“You bet. I’ll do just that.” Huffing and puffing, she slammed out of the castle, her bad temper propelling her to the gate where she’d first seen him painting.
At first glance, the castle trim looked white. She let some of her anger go. Everything seemed to be . .
