What a Woman Wants (A Manley Maids Novel) (4 page)

Millions of dollars, Manley
.

Oh yeah. That’s how.

A
LMOST
tripping on a brick that had unwedged itself in the winding pathway, Livvy reached the truck just as the driver climbed from the cab.

“Where do you want them, ma’am?” He handed her a clipboard.

Livvy ran down the list, making sure her neighbor Kerry hadn’t forgotten anyone. She signed the delivery slip and glanced at the ominously cloudy sky. “There’s a barn just down this lane. I’ll ride with you and we can unload there.” The barn had been the first thing to pop into her mind when Mr. Scanlon had called her out of the blue with the news of her grandmother’s passing and The Inheritance. How well she remembered escaping the gloomy
Wuthering Heights
-ness of the house all those years ago for the sweet-smelling barn with all those horses and cats.

She hopped into the cab and smoothed her skirt over her legs. The driver had made good time. She hadn’t expected him for another hour or she would have changed into jeans already.

She shrugged. If the “kids” ruined her skirt, she was finally in a position to afford a new one.

The barn, backlit by a gray sky, was just as she remembered, down to the hibiscus in the flower beds beside both doors.
Who landscapes a barn?

The same people who had free-range peacocks.

Those free-range peacocks darted out from the back of the building and ran across the lawn.

Cedar shingles topped the stone building that, with the same arched mullioned windows as the house and dove gray shutters, could pass for a homey cottage. Her babies were going to get the star treatment.

The driver backed the truck up to the barn doors, then went around to the tailgate and pulled out the ramp. Livvy followed, remembering the last time she’d been here. The stalls, all ten of them, had been filled with hay, and the windows along the back let in lots of fresh air and sunshine. The Martinsons had dabbled in horse breeding, though those assets had been sold off before Merriweather had gotten ill. Pity. Livvy wouldn’t have minded horses, but since she wasn’t keeping the place, it was a moot point.

“Ya got leashes or anything, ma’am?” the driver asked.

She shook her head, smiling. “Just let them out. They’ll mind me.”

They’d heard her voice. The doors swung open to a chorus of grunts and brays and bleats as the mini farmyard version of Noah’s ark emptied into the yard. Kerry was sending the dogs later. They tended to nip the sheep’s heels when excited, and the trip here would most definitely excite them.

The ram and his ewes rumbled down the ramp, followed by their babies. Her own next generation. How she loved their soft wool coats that would eventually end up matted and dingy like their parents’. She hated that part, but their dingy wool kept them in hay.

She picked up Buttercup and rubbed the lamb’s cheek against her own. Three days between the trip to the law offices and their arrival here seemed like a lifetime to be apart from her little family. Buttercup bleated and stiffened her legs. Mama Daisy gently butted Livvy’s thigh. “Okay, Dais, here you go. I just missed you guys.”

The goats kicked out of the truck next, followed by the alpacas. Rhett spat at her, which was not unexpected. He usually spat at her. Scarlett followed right behind him. The
hembra
had become more subservient since Livvy had caught them “in the moment.” Hopefully there’d be baby alpacas this time next year, though with The Inheritance, the price their fleece would bring was no longer the big issue it had been.

The gaggle of geese and ducks waddled out behind to form their ritual circle around her for their feed. She had to shuffle through to the truck to grab one of the feed bags, but pretty quickly everyone was munching away happily, the squawks giving way to contented pecking. Well, okay, Calypso might have just taken a bite out of Calliope’s wing, but that wasn’t anything new.

Once the birds settled down, Livvy climbed into the back of the truck. Sure enough, there sat Reggie on his blanket in the crate, his black snout rooting around in the folds. She wondered how many dog biscuits Kerry had hidden there to keep him content for the ride.

“Come on, Reggie. Let’s get everyone settled.” The potbellied pig snorted at his name, then clambered to his feet, his harness jingling with the bells she’d hung there. Reggie thought he was a cat. And he’d actually learned the stealth of a feline, but, sadly, lacked the grace. The bells warned her before he pounced—on her, on the furniture, the lily pads in the pond back home . . .

She grabbed a pair of chicken pens, lifting the clucking birds out of the truck, and clicked her tongue to herd the menagerie into their new home before the storms that were predicted for today—and the gray sky attested to—hit.

The driver, a larger feed bag tossed over one shoulder, opened the barn door, and he and Livvy came to an abrupt halt.

Someone had filled the barn not with hay, but boxes. Stacks and stacks of cardboard boxes. Floor-to-ceiling, taped and labeled as if it were a warehouse. Wooden crates containing blanketed and shrink-wrapped lumps that looked like furniture filled every stall, and the aisle along the front was cluttered with lawn furniture. Mice would be hard-pressed to find a nesting spot, never mind the menagerie she’d brought.

“Uh, ma’am? Are there pens around here somewhere for whatever used to be in that barn? I have to get going. More deliveries to make.”

Pens. Of course. Around back were open-air pens. She’d have to find some tarps to construct a temporary shelter—or grab the bedspread from the Blue Room—but the pens would have to do in a pinch.

While the driver unloaded the rest of the feed bags onto a stack of benches just inside the barn door, she herded the animals around to the back. Pens wouldn’t be the Ritz, but then they hadn’t exactly been living like kings at the other place.

Except it didn’t look like they’d be living
anywhere
because there
were
no pens.

Her kids were going to have to go back home. Livvy closed her eyes and tried to come up with someone she could ask to take care of them for her while she was stuck at this place. But the list was the same as the one she’d come up with before arranging to bring them here: no one. Kerry helped some, but he and Sherwood had their own farm to run. Same with Sheila and Marci and Jenny. Richard had scooped up all the college kids for his vacation before she’d had the chance. Life was busy for their co-op community, and caring for her animals would only burden everyone else.

Watching the driver and his truck head back down the lane, Livvy plunked her butt on the manicured lawn, made springy by what she was sure was a zillion dollars’ worth of chemicals so that the darn thing looked like a golf course, crossed her legs beneath her, and rested her chin in her palm.

Green for acres. Artistically placed, white-shingled gazebos. An ornamental pond with gurgling waterfall. Pergolas covered in wisteria above wrought iron café sets. Topiaries in the shape of mythical creatures. All this land and not a useful thing to be found. All for show.

Why was she not surprised?

Reggie came over and snuffled in her ear, his usual greeting when they were at home on the sofa. She scratched him under his chin. Reggie closed his eyes, hunkered down, and stretched out his neck, grunting with pleasure.

The sheep started rooting around the grass, followed by the goats and the alpacas. Livvy jumped back to her feet, dislodging Reggie’s chin from her knee. She did not want the animals ingesting whatever poison had been spread on the lawn. She herded them back toward the front of the barn, trying to figure out her next move.

Maybe they could sleep in the chapel. After all, there was precedent. Two-thousand-plus years of precedent, so it wasn’t as if God had anything against sharing a place to sleep with a bunch of barnyard animals.

Then a black cloud edged over the top of the barn with a rumble of thunder. They wouldn’t make it to the chapel before the storm hit.

She had no other choice. Only one place left to go.

S
EAN
climbed off the ladder. No way was he taking those drapes down. They looked harder to put back up than an entire pallet of rafters on a hip roof.

He reached the bottom of the fourteen-foot ladder, then eased it down onto its side, careful to miss the loveseat he’d moved before setting it up. The magnificent dimensions of the room would allow for great entertaining opportunities once the renovations were complete. This space, with its French door access to the slate patio, would make the perfect reception room for an intimate wedding. The landscape designer he’d had look over the place had suggested moving one of the gazebos from the croquet lawn close to the patio so the ceremonies could be accommodated in the event of rain.

Sean retrieved the rolling cart and angled the ladder onto it. Even with his pickup truck just outside, he didn’t want to heft the awkward thing even a few feet and risk dropping the ladder or damaging any of the millwork. Now that he’d finished up with the ground floor rooms on this side of the house, he’d get this ladder back to his truck, then move upstairs where the ceilings were a little lower. With another whole half of a mansion to clean, he was going to need the entire month to finish this place.

He maneuvered the cart and ladder to the patio doors, thankful for the rain holding off—and for the twenty-foot- wide terrace. The slate out there needed some touch-up, but he knew just the guy for it. Provided, of course, he ended up with this place.

Jesus. How the hell was he going to get her out of here? The poor, discarded bastard child with a chip on her shoulder had just walked through the door of the family bastion, reclaiming it for herself. She wasn’t going to leave for just any reason. And he had to be careful he didn’t get himself fired before the rest of his time was up.

He had to become her new best friend. Charm her, befriend her, become her buddy. Play Working-Man to her Wronged-Heir. Us-Against-The-Family. Make them kindred spirits. Cajole her into thinking he had her best interests at heart. None of which would be a problem. The problem would be when he found out what those damned stipulations were and had to beat her at them.

The idea hadn’t sounded bad about an hour ago. He wasn’t into losing his brothers’ money, but he hadn’t met her then. Now she was a living, breathing woman. With kids.

Damn it all. Who would’ve thought Merriweather Martinson had a heart buried somewhere beneath the layers of starched collars and fur stoles?

Sean unlocked the French doors and wheeled the ladder through. Maybe once he ran Livvy off and got this place up and profitable, he’d give her a monthly stipend. She’d have money to fix up that ramshackle farm she called home, and he’d feel less guilty for sending her and her kids away. A win-win for everyone.

The eruption of barnyard sounds should have warned him it wasn’t going to be that easy.

S
EAN
spun around at the commotion, shocked to see an unruly crowd of birds and farm animals headed his way. With one boot-shod gypsy running alongside them.

He stood there, disbelieving—and appreciating—until something hit him in the shin. Sonofabitch!

Sean tore his gaze from the stampede to see a gray-horned head backing up for another shot at his leg. A goat?

Feeling like an inept matador, Sean sidestepped the annoyance, managing to keep from tripping over the large white duck on his right, but getting a shoulder clipped by a llama.

A llama.

A llama that was running into—

“No!” Sean twisted around and ran back into the room he’d just spent the better part of the last day and a half cleaning, only to find two goats on the white loveseat, another chewing the edge of the rug, and the stupid llama literally preening in front of the glass cabinet.

And was that what he thought it was in front of the sideboard? Oh, God, it was. At least the duck had dropped that little “gift” on the marble, not the carpet—not that the goats would care.

“Oh, no!” Livvy’s distress call was weaker than the one he wanted to utter.

The furniture was going to have to be re-upholstered, and if that llama scratched its ridiculous neck on that cabinet one more time, it’d knock it over. And forget about the goats. The rug was a write-off in all of fifteen seconds.

He turned around just in time to see the rest of Noah’s ark waddle through the doors. Including a pig.

A pig. Who the hell had a pig?

Well that was a no-brainer. Obviously it was the woman around whom the hounds—okay,
goats
—of Hell were congregating.

“Rhett, stop that!” Livvy yelled, swatting at the llama.
Rhett
. It figured. “Dodger, get off that settee right this minute!” The goat looked up from the fringed pillow it was denuding with a flicker of its eyelashes, then went right back to munching. “Calliope! No! Outside!
Outside
!”

Yeah, Calliope the goose wasn’t paying attention. Or didn’t care.

Not that it mattered anymore. The rug was toast.

Livvy ran onto the rug, shooing and kicking, her skirt flouncing all over the place.

The animals just dodged her and found something else to ruin.

Sean looked from the chaos to the ladder on the patio, and quickly came up with a plan.

He ran outside, bypassing the ram that tried to nail him in the nuts, then dragged two wrought iron settees across the porch and butted the sides against the house. Then he maneuvered the ladder cart up against them and stuffed the cushions into the escape holes, creating a makeshift corral. All he had to do was get the Pied Piper to lead them out.

“Livvy! This way,” he yelled over the chorus of squeaks, honks, and brays.

Livvy flipped a swath of curls out of her face when she peeked over the back of the llama she was pushing and relief shone in her smile. “Good idea.”

One by one, she shooed, hustled, or carried the animals through the French doors. Sean then closed them and barricaded them with his body to keep the hellions from running back in.

It took a good ten minutes, and more of the Aubusson rug than could ever be repaired, but all of the creatures were soon ensconced in the improvised pen.

Livvy leaned against the door next to him, her curves heaving way too much for his liking.

Well, no, that wasn’t exactly true. He definitely liked. But he definitely didn’t
need
to be liking.

“Thanks,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “I don’t know what came over them. They’re normally fine in the house.”

“You
let
them in your house?”

“Well, not as a general rule. But when my barn was leaking during a hurricane, I didn’t really have a choice. Other than the necessary, um, calls of nature, they behaved quite well.”

“Yeah, well, looks like they forgot their manners today. And what gives with the menagerie?”

“They’re my pets.”

“They’re barnyard animals, not pets.”

“Why can’t barnyard animals be pets?”

“You want me to agree that having a pig is like having a dog?”

“Actually, Reggie’s more like a cat than a dog.”

Sean gritted his teeth. “Same difference.”

“Not a cat lover, I see.”

“I’m more of a dog person.”

“Good. The dogs will be here soon.”

More insanity? “Lucky me.”

“Look, Pool Boy.” She poked him in his side and it hurt, dammit. “It’s my house and they’re my animals. Live with it.”

“Did you see what they did to that room? Is that how you want to live? Your ancestors didn’t build a barn out there for nothing, you know.”

“Leave my ancestors out of this. I don’t care what they did, or what they want. It’s my place now and if I want the goats to have a playground in the reception room, it’s no business of yours.”

“You can’t honestly say that you’re going to allow those animals to destroy all that antique furniture.”

“Why do you care?”

“I care because . . .” Uh, yeah, good question. What was his answer going to be? “Because it’s my job to take care of this place. I just finished cleaning that room, you know. Now it’s a disaster.”

She closed her eyes, shaking her head. When she opened them, Sean saw a hint of laughter sparkling in those amber eyes. “Sean, Sean, Sean. You really need to lighten up. It’s just
stuff.
They’ve been cooped up in a truck for hours. If the barn were empty, they could’ve unwound out there, but someone stuck a load of boxes and furniture in there. I didn’t have any other place for them to go without them eating all the grass.”

“And tell me again why heirloom rugs are better for their digestion than grass? I thought grass was organic?”

“It would be if it wasn’t soaked in enough chemicals to make the lawn golf course–worthy.”

Exactly. That lawn was gorgeous. It wouldn’t take much to turn it into an ideal fairway.

“So what are you going to do with them now?”

She twisted those pretty heart-shaped lips to one side and Sean wondered what they’d feel like against his. What they’d taste like—

Yeah, yeah, mind off the pretty and heart-shaped thing
. And he could forget about kissing her. She was the enemy.

As was the pig that was trying to nuzzle between the two of them, the jingle bells on his collar sounding like a drunken Santa.

“I have to empty the barn before I can put them there. Any chance barn cleaning is in your job description?” She nudged him with her shoulder and looked up at him from under her lashes.

Not fair. That look had probably been created by Aphrodite to make men’s knees and wills weaken. And Livvy had it down pat. Dammit.

Looked like he’d just added more work to his day because there was no way was he opting for an indoor barnyard in his soon-to-be Hideaway Hills Resort.

But then the skies opened up, unleashing sheets of rain worthy of Noah and
his
menagerie.

“Oh no!” Livvy flew off the door, rounded the animals up, then glared at him. “Well?”

“Well what?” He hadn’t moved. Nor did he intend to.

“Aren’t you going to help me?”

“Help you what?”

“Get them inside.”

“Inside? I thought we just decided to empty out the barn.”

“But they’re getting wet.”

“They’re animals. They’re used to it.”

“No they’re not. And I don’t want them to get sick. Come on.” She nudged the pig out of the way and yanked on the door.

Sean grabbed it before it moved more than two inches from the frame. “You’re not letting them back in.”

Spiked, sooty lashes framed spitting gold eyes. “Yes I am.”

“No you’re not. They’re animals. Barnyard animals.”

“Who don’t have a barn. Now quit arguing and move!”

For a tiny thing she sure could pack a wallop. Her hip clipped him at mid-thigh and he actually had to sidestep to stay upright.

That was the break she needed. Just that quick, she grabbed hold of both door handles and flung them open. Animals stampeded inside.

Shit. You’d think they’d never seen rain before.

He could no longer say the same for the Aubusson. The only saving grace was that it’d already been ruined—as the furniture was now being. Oh, hell.

Thunder rattled the panes of the French doors.

“I better close those,” Livvy, the den mother, said, pushing off one of the wingback chairs.

“Why bother?” Sean slicked his drenched hair off his forehead with one hand and grabbed her arm with the other. “The floor’s already soaked. Besides, you wanted a barn. Now you’ve got one.” With the décor of Versailles.

She had a finger already pointing his way, but, mid-turn, the words got stuck in her mouth. She looked at him, then at herself, then at all the animals, and promptly started laughing.

Which got him laughing.

But with her bedraggled skirt plastered against her legs and the wet, gauzy, practically transparent fabric doing the same to her body, laughter died in Sean’s throat.

It was replaced by something much heavier. Expectant. He couldn’t look away.

She looked delectable. Rain tracked along her collarbone, a few drops pooling in the hollow before they slipped down her chest beneath the thin fabric of her camisole. Sean traced that line with his eyes, his breath growing shallower with every freckle he counted.

Livvy’s laughter slid away and Sean met her gaze.

The vulnerability he’d seen before had been replaced by something . . . more.

He
wanted
more.

He didn’t understand why; she wasn’t his usual type. But it didn’t matter. When Livvy looked at him like she was,
looking
like she did, it didn’t matter. He wanted her.

He took a step toward her. A slight one, but her lashes flickered and her lips, slicked with rainwater, formed a small
O
. He wanted to lick it off.

So he did.

Somehow she was in his arms, their bodies touching, their breath mingling, her curls skimming his chest at the V of his shirt, and his tongue slid out to taste her lips. Just a whisper of a touch, but there was no hesitancy on her part. Her breath caught just enough for the small opening he needed and he deepened the kiss.

Thunder crashed through the room—or maybe that was the blood rushing through his veins as his body turned to fire. He wrapped his arms over her shoulders, pressing the impossibly small curve of her waist against him, her breasts—her wet, tight breasts—crushed against his chest, and he couldn’t help but groan as her hips moved against him.

God, she turned him on and he didn’t care if she knew it. Because really . . . how could she not?

He slid one hand into the tangle of curls he wanted to see spread all over the bed pillows upstairs, and held her head at just the right angle. His tongue swept in, meeting the thrust of hers, her lips nipping at his, her nipples pressing against his chest, sending riotous signals to every nerve ending in his body.

She was tiny, almost fragile, but, God, could she kiss. The fierce scrape of her nails on his back beneath his shirt, the way she leaned against him, holding nothing back . . .

The low moan in the back of her throat . . . It undid him.

He ran his hand lower, cupping her ass, pulling her into position. He’d love to wrap her legs around him, but that’d mean letting go of the sensuous fall of damp hair caressing his skin and that just wasn’t an option at the moment. He could picture it draped over him as she straddled him, her breasts, heavy in his palms, swaying with their rhythm.

God, the image . . . He deepened the kiss, his tongue doing what his cock wanted to. He was so hard he ached . . .

He slid his lips to her cheek, tasting the hint of her arousal beneath the rain, tilting her head back, feeling her breath harsh against his ear. He dipped into the hollow below her jaw, her pulse pounding against his lips as he slid them up to her lobe, catching it between his teeth, tugging, and her head fell back. Moist, creamy skin his for the taking, a brush of his lips, the swirl of his tongue—

Hell, he was in a lot of trouble. This wasn’t part of his plan. He was supposed to be devising a scheme to get her out of here, not kissing her senseless.

Yet he couldn’t seem to stop. Kissing her might not be the smartest
business
decision he’d ever made, but by God, he thought it might be the best
life
decision he’d ever made.

And then the damn pig butted him in the ass.