“I’m dressed. Do you mind coming up here? I don’t think I can manage the stairs again tonight.”
Calling herself all kinds of fool, Lia complied. She took the stairs slowly, feeling like a condemned woman on her way to the executioner. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed—if you could call it that—only in a pair of boxer briefs, with his legs spread and his forearms braced on his thighs as he contemplated the floor between his bare feet. He raised his blond head when he heard her tread on the landing.
“This is the best I can manage with just one arm,” he said wryly. “Hope it doesn’t offend your sensibilities, Miss Priss.”
As if she hadn’t just seen his penis.
She pursed her lips and said nothing at all in response to that.
“What did you want to talk about?”
“This, actually,” he said, his crisp British accent particularly noticeable on those two words.
“I don’t understand.”
“I need help, Lia, and right now I find your company a damned sight more tolerable than anyone else’s. I was hoping you’d be willing to assist me for just a couple of weeks until this cast comes off.”
His request completely threw her, and she wasn’t sure how to respond at all.
“You’re gawking, princess. Not an attractive look.”
“Why don’t you hire a nurse?”
“Fuck that,” he dismissed, and she heaved a sigh at the language—the man really had no filter. Then again, he probably didn’t care about his crudity and how it offended her. “I’m not an invalid. I just need a bit of assistance, that’s all. And I don’t want strangers hovering around me all the time. You don’t piss me off, I don’t mind your company, and you don’t talk my ear off.”
“You barely know me. How do you know I won’t do those things?”
“Look, Mason tells me you don’t have a job at the moment. Well, I’m willing to pay you handsomely for just a little of your time.” That made her pause. A supplemental income would come in handy if she was going to rent Daisy’s house.
“How much of my time?” she asked and then regretted the question when his gaze sharpened. She would make a terrible poker player—she had no notion of playing her cards close to her chest.
“Well, I need someone to do some cooking for me. And I definitely need help shaving, as you can see I did a piss-poor job today.” He lifted his strong cleft jaw to indicate the patches of dark stubble emerging. His beard seemed to be a shade or two darker than his hair. “And driving me around when I need to go to my doctor’s appointments or just need to get the fuck out of here for a few hours. I don’t do well in one confined space for too long, I’d go crazy.”
“I won’t be available on Tuesday and Friday mornings,” she said, keeping her voice neutral.
“Why not?”
“I just got a part-time job at the preschool, they’ll need me from eight till noon.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine on those mornings.”
“This is just a job? Nothing else? No funny business or anything?”
Sam bit back a grin at the question. He had her exactly where he wanted her, and smiling now would make her suspicious. He kept his face neutral, infusing just enough curiosity and confusion into his expression to set her mind at ease.
“Funny business?”
“You know.”
“I’m afraid I don’t.” He added a faint frown into the mix, and she chewed on her luscious lower lip, looking uncertain. “You’ll have to elaborate.”
“I mean, you know? We have a history, and I just want to be sure that you don’t expect the same thing from me again.”
He couldn’t play dumb anymore, she’d be onto him. He allowed his expression to clear.
“Ah. You mean no fucking,” he said, and she winced. He covered his smile with his hand and pretend to clear his throat. “Of course not, princess. What kind of man would I be, offering to pay a nice girl like you for sex?”
She looked horrified by his words, as the connection clearly hadn’t occurred to her before he said it.
“I didn’t think you meant to pay me for it,” she gasped.
“I mean, aside from the fact that I don’t have to pay for it, never have, you’re definitely not that type of woman.”
“I didn’t mean that. I just meant there’d be no flirting and stuff.”
“I shall attempt to restrain myself. I know you’re looking for a husband, and I have to tell you, I’m not husband material. Flirting with you might give you the wrong impression. I would hate that. I’m not the marrying kind, Lia.” He kept his eyes level and his voice dead serious. This he needed to make absolutely clear to her, because he absolutely did intend to fuck her again. But not before his cast came off—he would use that time to get her primed and ready.