All done on a tight budget, and fitted in between exhausting twelve-hour shifts at work. It had taken a lot of coercing Georgie to even allow him to do that.
Climbing down the stepladder from where he’d been fixing the new light fitting in the flash living area, he huffed out a long breath. He had to admit she’d had a point about knocking the wall down, the open-plan space was amazing. With the renovated floor and antique white walls it was impressively large and light, with a good flow from one area to the next. She’d managed to find, on the cheap from a trading website, a set of elegant French doors that opened the kitchen out onto the small deck. Beyond that was a riotous garden, overgrown and dingy. But he had no doubt she had plans for there, too. The woman clearly had a gift for renovation.
A loud bang and a very unladylike curse came from above him. Liam was up the stairs and in the bathroom in two seconds flat. ‘You okay? What the hell was that?’
‘Just a little contretemps with a tin of paint. And...damn, I was so nearly finished.’ From her crouched position on the floor she grimaced up at him as a pool of off-white gloop seeped across stained dustsheets. A paintbrush stuck out of her denim dungarees pockets, her face was splattered with paint and she wore a plastic carrier bag tied round her hair. She dabbed at the ever-increasing seepage with a rag, huffing and puffing a little. ‘I’m going to have to nip out to the hardware store and get some more paint now. Do we need anything else?’
His eyes flickered from her to the stepladder, back to her.
Unbelievable
. ‘You were painting the ceiling?’
‘Um...yes?’
‘After I specifically told you it was next on my list of jobs?’
‘Um...yes.’ This time there was no hint of apology. ‘It needed doing and it was next on
my
list. I was free to do it, so I made a start.’
‘Why can’t you accept more than the slightest bit of help without a row? You are slowly driving me crazy. No—make that rapidly driving me crazy.’ There was only so much independence a guy could take before it became downright stubbornness, and then it made him really mad. ‘You were supposed to be taking a break.’
‘Breaks are boring. There’s nothing more satisfying than seeing the instant difference a coat of paint can make to a room. Look, isn’t it great?’ She gestured at the white over the dirty green and, yes, it looked good. That was not the point.
‘And risk a broken collarbone...or worse?’ He didn’t allow his brain to follow that train of thought. Already she was showing signs of discomfort with her growing bump—all it had needed was one wrong step. ‘These ladders are unsteady, and those trainers have a slippery grip. You said so yourself.’
‘I was fine.’
‘Oh, clearly. So fine that you dropped the paint can?’
‘No one likes a smartass.’ With an irritated groan she whipped the plastic bag from her head and stuffed it into her pocket, then gripped the side of the bath to assist her to transition from sitting to standing—flatly refusing his outstretched hand. Once up she rubbed her back, which pushed out her stomach, fat and round and very obviously pregnant. Her face had filled out a little too, her long hair, which she’d piled on the top of her head in some sort of fancy clip, was glossy. Man, was it shiny, and it took him all his strength not to pull her close and inhale. Somehow the more annoying she became, the more he wanted her. Seemed he was hard-wired to protect her too.
But he’d never contemplated giving her this job and hadn’t thought she’d be so hell-bent on doing what she wanted. How much did he need to do to show her he was invested too? She’d taken him at his word and had never referred to the contract again, but he knew she watched him and wondered. Every day. And every day he tried to prove to her he was up to the father job.
He just hadn’t contemplated how hard it would be to keep his emotions
Climbing down the stepladder from where he’d been fixing the new light fitting in the flash living area, he huffed out a long breath. He had to admit she’d had a point about knocking the wall down, the open-plan space was amazing. With the renovated floor and antique white walls it was impressively large and light, with a good flow from one area to the next. She’d managed to find, on the cheap from a trading website, a set of elegant French doors that opened the kitchen out onto the small deck. Beyond that was a riotous garden, overgrown and dingy. But he had no doubt she had plans for there, too. The woman clearly had a gift for renovation.
A loud bang and a very unladylike curse came from above him. Liam was up the stairs and in the bathroom in two seconds flat. ‘You okay? What the hell was that?’
‘Just a little contretemps with a tin of paint. And...damn, I was so nearly finished.’ From her crouched position on the floor she grimaced up at him as a pool of off-white gloop seeped across stained dustsheets. A paintbrush stuck out of her denim dungarees pockets, her face was splattered with paint and she wore a plastic carrier bag tied round her hair. She dabbed at the ever-increasing seepage with a rag, huffing and puffing a little. ‘I’m going to have to nip out to the hardware store and get some more paint now. Do we need anything else?’
His eyes flickered from her to the stepladder, back to her.
Unbelievable
. ‘You were painting the ceiling?’
‘Um...yes?’
‘After I specifically told you it was next on my list of jobs?’
‘Um...yes.’ This time there was no hint of apology. ‘It needed doing and it was next on
my
list. I was free to do it, so I made a start.’
‘Why can’t you accept more than the slightest bit of help without a row? You are slowly driving me crazy. No—make that rapidly driving me crazy.’ There was only so much independence a guy could take before it became downright stubbornness, and then it made him really mad. ‘You were supposed to be taking a break.’
‘Breaks are boring. There’s nothing more satisfying than seeing the instant difference a coat of paint can make to a room. Look, isn’t it great?’ She gestured at the white over the dirty green and, yes, it looked good. That was not the point.
‘And risk a broken collarbone...or worse?’ He didn’t allow his brain to follow that train of thought. Already she was showing signs of discomfort with her growing bump—all it had needed was one wrong step. ‘These ladders are unsteady, and those trainers have a slippery grip. You said so yourself.’
‘I was fine.’
‘Oh, clearly. So fine that you dropped the paint can?’
‘No one likes a smartass.’ With an irritated groan she whipped the plastic bag from her head and stuffed it into her pocket, then gripped the side of the bath to assist her to transition from sitting to standing—flatly refusing his outstretched hand. Once up she rubbed her back, which pushed out her stomach, fat and round and very obviously pregnant. Her face had filled out a little too, her long hair, which she’d piled on the top of her head in some sort of fancy clip, was glossy. Man, was it shiny, and it took him all his strength not to pull her close and inhale. Somehow the more annoying she became, the more he wanted her. Seemed he was hard-wired to protect her too.
But he’d never contemplated giving her this job and hadn’t thought she’d be so hell-bent on doing what she wanted. How much did he need to do to show her he was invested too? She’d taken him at his word and had never referred to the contract again, but he knew she watched him and wondered. Every day. And every day he tried to prove to her he was up to the father job.
He just hadn’t contemplated how hard it would be to keep his emotions
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