“But it was my fault!” I shout back. His actions make me feel like a charity case. I may be poor but I have my pride. I don’t have money but I can work. I don’t need his pity. He can’t treat me this way.
He seems taken aback by my reaction.
“No, I’m coming tomorrow,” I declare. When he finally looks into my eyes, I hold his gaze steady. “I’ll be there at seven. I’ll work for you for a week. Eight hours a day. Monday through Friday. And after that, you can cancel my debt.” I cross my arms in front of my chest, daring him to refuse me.
Suddenly, I realize I am standing very close to him. Way too close. I can see the flintiness in his deep-set eyes melt away and his lips part slightly as he exhales with relief. My stomach flutters and I feel a little light-headed.
His icy features crack and his deep voice flows like a river in my ears. I am surprised when he smiles and flashes two rows of ivory teeth at me. I can feel my head spin.
He says, “Okay.”
Chapter 4
Fletcher
“Don’t. Touch. Anything.” I grunt the second Amelia bends over a pile of old clothes that I have thrown on the floor. She straightens up and stares at me with an annoyed look.
I pause and take a deep breath. “I mean,” I try to explain, feeling exasperated. “Just help me with the things I ask you to help with. Don’t just go around touching everything.” My words come out harsher than I expected. I note ruefully that I don’t really know how to talk to an attractive stranger who isn’t after my money. Usually, I can be as nasty as I want and women flock to me.
“I wasn’t going around touching everything.” I hear her mutter under her breath.
I run my fingers through my hair and sigh. I should have turned away when Coach led me to her after I confided in him I was worried that I would never finish cleaning up the house. I should have stood my ground when I came back the second time into the coffee shop and told her I didn’t want her to come. I should have said no when she defiantly told me she was going to come after all. I should have just let her pass out of my life like all the others, but I couldn’t do it.
I was bewitched by the fire in her green eyes and how her flaming cheeks looked. Even when she says nothing, she meets me squarely in the eye and challenges me with her silence. Unlike most women, she doesn’t see me as a walking trophy or a human ATM. She sees me as an equal and a man. I want to hold on to that spark in her eyes and relish in it. I want her to look at me with not just anger, but desire. My hands itch to touch her, to manipulate her senses, to possess her. I want to taste those lips that refuse to agree with me and hear her moan, “Yes!”
Keep it in your pants, Fletch.
The four walls seem to close in on me and the house suddenly feels too cramped. I tug at my collars and walk over to open a window.
“Well?” She follows me around the living room. “What do you want me to help you with?” I can tell that she is still a little cranky from the earliness of the hour. I didn’t think about that when I set the time. I have always been an early riser and I am still on East Coast time. When I don’t respond right away, she yawns and points at a pile of old magazines. “Should I recycle these? I can make a trip to the town dump.”
I nod with relief. “There is some twine on the bookshelf over there. You can bundle them together.” I point behind her. She swerves around and I unexpectedly catch a whiff of her fresh lilac scent. I feel like I’m knocked over the head. I clear my throat and stare down at a ceramic angel figurine that belonged to my grandmother. “You can stay here and organize the things for the dump. I’ll be sorting things in the bedroom.” I rush out of there as if chased by a pack of wolves.
Sitting on my old bed with my head between my hands, I am hiding from the girl. I can hear her moving around in the other room. Quietly and carefully, she is doing exactly what I have asked her to do. I get up from my bed; I know I can’t hide here forever. Eventually, she’ll finish and come in here. Fidgeting for something to do, I grab an empty cardboard box from the floor and throw in some old books. Then I toss down the box and grab a handful of clothes from the closet. Then I let it all fall into a pile on the bed and collapse on top of everything. This is hopeless. I cover my head. I’m acting like a teenager with a girl in his house for the first time.
My phone rings, and it is from my company in New York. My Chief Operating Officer, Joe, calls me and updates me on the progress of our latest project. His bland voice travels three thousand miles at a snail’s pace. Joe is always cautious and does everything by the book. This is the first time I’ve put him in charge in my absence. I hope it won’t be the last time.
“No, that’s not good enough,” I growl into my phone, taking my sexual frustration out on my team.
I hear a click and silence, then the hesitant voice of Joe comes
