The Wrong Man (Alpha Men 3)

Basically it amounted to a week or two of foreplay, and by the time the cast came off and he was himself again, she would be so damned keen to get back into bed with him, she’d take him on any terms. Meantime, he was ready for a bit of fun and games with this prissy little schoolteacher.

“I really need your help, Lia,” he said, injecting as much sincerity as he could into his voice. He meant it—he needed her help around the house, he needed her help with shaving and dressing, and he definitely needed her help to stave off boredom and keep him sane. Sam had a low threshold for boredom and was always busy doing something. This enforced rest was already hell, which meant he had to find ways to occupy his body and mind.

Of course, he would have been perfectly fine with having Spencer help him out of his ridiculous bathtub predicament. Sam had actually had the man’s number up on his screen and had been a second away from calling when the thought of contacting Lia instead occurred to him. At that point it had been a no-brainer—the potential entertainment value alone had sold the idea. And while waiting for her, he’d come up with this plan.

Have her help him out around the house, butter her up, make her want him so badly that she’d be hot to trot for a blazing sexual adventure with him. By the time his cast came off, before they sealed the deal, so to speak, she’d definitely have no illusions about him being her Mr. Right. So she wouldn’t be fabricating any happily ever after fantasies about them in her prissy little head when they wound up in bed again.

She still looked uncertain, so he sweetened the pot with an amount of money that would make most people sit up and pay attention.

“That seems excessive,” she surprised him by saying. Okay, weird. If anything, the exorbitant amount had made her look a little more doubtful.

“It’s a fair amount,” he said, and she shook her head.

“It’s daylight robbery.” He blinked. What the fuck? “I can’t take that much from you, Brand. You’re in pain, you need help. To take all that money from someone so clearly in need would be unconscionable.”

She shook her head and gave him a different number, half of his original offer. Was this chick for real? Seriously, she was unemployed and probably needed the money. He’d casually asked Mason to give him the rundown on the family last night. And had impatiently waited as his friend rambled on about his newfound sister, Charlie, then Daff and Spencer. Dr. and Mrs. McGregor. Lia had been last on the list, and Mason’s information on her had been perfunctory at best.

“Lia, she’s sweet. Very sincere, always wants to help people. She’s been in a bit of a rut since her wedding fell through. Her asshole fiancé persuaded her to give up her job and she’s been unemployed since then. A shame, really—according to Daisy, she really loved that job.”

Mason had left it at that, and Sam didn’t push the man for further information, knowing that to do so would alert Mason to the fact that he had more than just a passing interest in Lia.

“Right. Okay,” he said in response to her last comment, still a bit at a loss after her refusal of his initial compensation. “Thanks.”

“I’m just happy I’m the one you approached about this. Anyone else wouldn’t have thought twice about fleecing you,” she said with a sweet smile. “You have to be more careful.”

“Yes.” He felt a little wrong-footed and couldn’t quite get his bearings. He cleared his throat, striving to regain control over the situation. “So I take it this means you’ll do it?”

“I’ll help you. I’ll come around first thing in the morning to fix your breakfast and we can take it from there, okay?”

Just like that. She just took his word for it that there’d be no “funny business,” asked for less money than he’d been willing to pay, and was willing to cook for him, shave him, and be his gofer/chauffeur for the next two weeks? It seemed too good to be true.

“Do you . . . uh . . . do you have any conditions or anything?”

“What do you mean, conditions? Like allergies or illnesses?” He stared at her, flummoxed by her bizarre turn of thought.

“No, of course not. I mean caveats to our agreement?”

“Oh.” She laughed at her assumption, the delightful sound ending on the tiniest of snorts, and shook her head. “Sorry, that was a weird conclusion to leap to, wasn’t it? No conditions. I just wanted to be sure there wouldn’t be any, y’know . . .”

“Yeah. Funny business,” he completed. And she nodded, flushing slightly.

“But it was silly of me to even think that. I mean, you’re with Laura Prentiss now. And you know that I’m looking for something else, something you’ve already claimed to have no interest in whatsoever. So with that in mind, I think this arrangement will work out fine.”