Daring Dylan (The Billionaire Brotherhood Book 2) (6 page)

Dylan’s
head jerked upward before he realized she was chastising the dog, not him. The
Scottie looked up at Gracie with adoring eyes. She encouraged his
non-repentance with a friendly ear scratching as she cuddled him to her chest.
“Now look what you’ve done.”

“You
shouldn’t have left him in here alone.” Dylan envied the dog and his position
between Gracie’s breasts.

“Go away,”
she huffed. “I’m busy.”

He crossed
his arms and lounged against the doorframe. “I think I’ll wait to talk to your
grandmother.”

“She won’t
be home until later. You’re welcome to come back and try to persuade her to let
you stay, but I don’t have time for this.”

As she
brushed past him, he stopped her with a hand on her arm. The innocent touch
shot a jolt of fire to the same stomach muscles that had barely had time to
unclench. Didn’t she feel the heat that sparked between them? If so, she
managed to ignore her reaction to it.

“It’ll be
easier if you just agree now.”

“For you,
maybe, but not for me or Gran. Just look.” A sweeping gesture of her arm
indicated the state of the room. “This isn’t the only one of Granddad’s chores
left unfinished. I’ll have my hands full getting the rest of them done before
we open this weekend. Visiting at the hospital has Gran behind schedule, too.
If you move in, that will add to her regular work and she’ll feel obliged to
prepare meals. It’s too much for her right now.”

Surely
those weren’t insurmountable obstacles. She was halfway down the stairs before
he stopped her with the magic words. “I’ll pay anything you want.”

“Anything?”
She looked him up and down from a few steps below. Calculating… Assessing…
judging him.

He stood
taller. Confidently. Few had ever found him or his wallet lacking.

An unholy
gleam in her eyes forecast the devil of a challenge, but Grandfather had always
said, “A Bradford never refused a dare. Or lost one.”

He squared
his shoulders. “Anything.”

“Okay,” she
said with relish. “Triple the usual rate, no meals included, and you have to
finish the painting.”

“Done.” He
reached out to shake her small but capable blue-spattered hand and seal the
bargain. “I’ll arrange for someone to come out and finish the painting right
away.”

Her fingers
escaped his grasp. “Oh, no. The deal is that
you
have to do the painting.”

Dylan took
a quick look over his shoulder, searching behind him to locate whoever she was
really talking to. He pressed his fingertips to his chest. “Me? You’ve got to
be kidding.”

“Suit
yourself.” She turned with a shrug and continued downward. “Your room might
still be available at the Granite Inn.”

Following
her to the laundry room, Dylan considered his options. With MacDuff licking her
chin, she set the plug and ran water into a big sink.

“I’ve never
painted a room before. Why do you want me to do it?”

“Painting
builds character.”

“You don’t
care about my character.”

“The truth
is I’d have hired someone else if I could, but no one’s available.” She
chuckled and unfastened the Scottie’s collar. Her lilting laugh momentarily
charmed Dylan into forgetting how she irritated the crap out of him. “But never
mind. If you’re that inexperienced, I’d just have to redo it anyway.”

All right,
now she’d gone and pricked his pride. And Bradfords were known to have more
than their fair share of that commodity. Anything she could do, he could do.
Better. “Are you saying you don’t think I could manage such a menial task?”

Twin spots
of color flared in her cheeks. “In East Langden, we don’t consider performing
manual labor an insult.”

“Calm
down.” He directed the words to himself as much as to Gracie, remembering the
Chinese water torture that passed itself off as a leaky faucet at the Granite
Inn. Even smelling of paint, the accommodations of Liberty House were vastly
superior. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

Gracie
thrust MacDuff into the sink. He scrambled up the sides faster than she could
dunk him. From the stiff set of her shoulders, Dylan expected her to subject
him to the silent treatment. But as she squirted liquid soap onto blue paws,
she relented. “My grandfather got hurt painting that room, and there’s not a
finer man alive. If the work wasn’t beneath him, it’s not beneath you.”

Dylan
rolled up his sleeves and reached in to steady the dog. The wriggling canine
soon had them both sopping wet as Gracie scrubbed and rinsed away the paint and
suds.

“I’m sure
painting requires enormous skill and talent.” He doubted any such thing.

“The Colony
Room isn’t the Sistine Chapel. If you really don’t know how to paint, I can get
you started, if you’re game.”

Her primary
focus centered on her pet, not Dylan. He doubted she had the least notion of
how waterlogged the front of her shirt was, but he did. And he considered
renouncing his lifelong fascination with legs in favor of breasts.

Before she
kicked his ass out of there for leering at her like she was the grand-prize
winner of a wet T-shirt contest, he turned to grab a towel from a nearby rack.

She held up
MacDuff while Dylan draped the writhing fur ball in terry cloth. “Having that
room painted is my most pressing need at the moment. So take the offer or leave
it.”

Since
they’d both get what they wanted out of the deal, Dylan disregarded his own most
pressing need and the fact that she had so neatly maneuvered him into doing her
bidding. That didn’t happen very often. “I’ll take it. When do you want me to
start?”

By
late-afternoon, Dylan had so much high-gloss on him he could be mistaken for
one of the Blue Man Group. At least the stains wouldn’t ruin the work clothes
Gracie had loaned him to wear while painting.

When he
ventured out of his newly assigned room for the painting lesson, she’d looked
at him and gave a sniff of disapproval, like he’d failed the dress code. “Those
designer clothes will be ruined. Hang on while I get you something of
Granddad’s.”

The old
man’s paint-speckled T-shirt strained against Dylan’s shoulders and hovered
around his navel. The white painter’s pants were perfect for high tide, while
the waistband offered at least an inch or two of extra material. Since Gracie
also insisted he remove his leather belt, the pants rode low on his hips every
time he raised his arms above his head. Which was pretty often.

After
Gracie showed him the ropes and left him on his own, he’d fallen into an
automatic rhythm. As his body went into auto-pilot with the paint roller, his
thoughts drifted to Gracie O’Donnell and Clayton Harris. The two topics most
certain to disrupt his peace of mind.

No matter
how often he grappled with the subject of Clayton, he wasn’t prepared to give
the fake Bradford an inch. And Gracie’s inexplicable allure nagged at him like
a bad rash that would spread into the most irritating places if he scratched
it.

Just how
close were those two? She’d seemed awfully protective of him. He shook his
head. Much better not to think about them.

He pushed
the roller through the pan, climbed the ladder, and turned to paint the section
above the door.

Rapid
footsteps approached. He put his hand out just in time to prevent Gracie from
shoving the door into the ladder. She edged through the six-inch opening and
pirouetted slowly to take in the entire room. Fresh and delicious, she had
showered and changed into a floaty floral skirt and a skinny-ribbed pink top.

Late
afternoon sunlight poured through the bare windows, gilding her movements. The
front and sides of her stunning hair were caught in a clip at the back of her
head. Fiery streaks of red and gold glinted through the very touchable curls.
Not that he cared.

Stepping
off the ladder, he poured a final puddle of paint into the pan. The tail of his
shirt rode up and the waist of the pants rode down, as they had been doing all
afternoon. As he straightened, Gracie’s gaze swept up and down his body and
returned to settle on his eyes.

“Everything
looks great,” she said.

“Thanks.”
Her unexpected approval warmed him as no one else’s had in a long time. Looking
around, he took a measure of satisfaction in the nearly finished project. “I
think I got the hang of it after a while.”

“You sure
did.” She pursed her lips as she trained her attention on him. “The question
is, what do I do with you now?”

That was a
burning question. Of all the possibilities, his first choice was that she feed
him. Okay, maybe not his first choice, but it came in a close second.

He laid the
roller in the pan. “Do you have any other pressing needs?”

Her natural
color heightened, and he grinned. He’d never learned to curb the tendency to
flirt with any available female, but this one wasn’t his type. In spite of
those great legs. And luscious tits. “I mean, what’s the problem?”

She twisted
a strand of her glorious hair around a finger. “Since you’re a working guest, I
can’t leave you here alone.”

He leaned
back to check for streaks in the fresh paint above the door. “Afraid to trust
me with the family silver?”

Her husky
laughter jolted Dylan with a straight shot of eighty-proof lust.

“I’m sure
your family silver would put ours to shame. And do I trust you?” She pinched
her bottom lip between her thumb and forefinger. “I’m reserving judgment.”

“Well,
that’s progress. Yesterday, you wouldn’t have had to think twice about it.” He
hiked the baggy pants up to his waist from his hips. “I didn’t see your car in
the lane earlier. Did you get it fixed?”

“Turley
towed it to the garage this morning.” She picked at the loose end of a strip of
masking tape in the corner of the room and started pulling it off the trim.

Certain she
would end up covered with paint, Dylan took the tape from her and turned her
hands palms-up to check. Sure enough, blue stripes. He handed her a rag from
his back pocket. “Is it being repaired?”

“No.” Her
bottom lip dipped down into a brief pout. “The transmission’s shot. Turley said
it would cost more to fix than it’s worth.” Wiping her hands on the cloth, she
pulled back a tarp corner to sit on the edge of the bed.

He took
over the tape-removal task, eager for a diversion that turned his attention
away from her body. “So, do you need a ride somewhere?”

“No,
thanks. I have Gran’s car.”

“Are you
going out? Will you be gone long?” Will you bring back food, he almost asked,
but remembered the terms of his occupancy. No meals.

“I’m going
to visit Granddad.” She folded her hands in her lap a little too studiously.
“And then Gran and I are going out to dinner.”

The forced
nonchalance warned him something was up. “With a friend?”

“Yes and my
stepfather.” The sweetness of her smile would have surpassed those of angels.
“Would you like to join us?”

He scowled.
“Is Clayton the friend?”

She
hesitated before admitting, “Yes.”

“Then, no.”
He’d rather eat ground glass than have Clayton’s company for dinner.

“You’ll
have to face him sooner or later.”

“Not tonight.”
He tossed the ball of masking tape into a trash bag. “I need to take a shower
and check on how the market closed.”

“Ri-ight.”
She stood and smoothed her skirt, obviously not buying his excuse.

“Where’s
MacDuff? You want me to keep an eye on him?”

“He’s over
at my place.”

“Your
place? Where’s that?”

She moved
toward the door. “Over the carriage house. It’s where my mom and I lived when I
was growing up. Gran saves it for me to use when I’m here. Nearby but
separate.”

Good. They
wouldn’t be sleeping under the same roof. Less temptation that way. “See you
tomorrow then.”

“There’s a
spare key on a hook in the laundry room. Lock up if you go anywhere.” She
wiggled her fingers at him over her shoulder as she left.