The Bachelor Auction(29)
“Oh, I’m aware.” He took a step toward her. “But if I’m nice, I miss out on the opportunity to see this.” He was pushing her too far. He was taking everything too far, but the minute her cheeks flushed red with anger he wanted to touch her. Wanted to make those cheeks flush for other reasons.
He cupped her face with his right hand and leaned in, his lips lingering near her ear. “You’re pretty when you’re angry.”
“I’m not just angry,” she whispered in a wobbly voice.
“Oh?” He pulled back. “What else are you?”
She stared down at the floor then swept her gaze back up and regarded him with big brown eyes. “Disappointed.”
Jane jerked away from his embrace. He reached for her again, so she shoved against his rock hard chest, slapped him on the cheek, and stormed out of the room.
Chapter Seventeen
Jane wiped the sweat from her forehead and braced her rubber-gloved hands against the toilet. She hadn’t meant to lose her temper with Brock earlier. She wasn’t the type to lose her temper—ever.
She’d lived with two of the brattiest women in the world for her entire life and managed to make it through the day with a smile pasted on her face and at least one good thing to say about them, for the most part.
But with Brock?
Things were different.
He brought out the worst in her.
And she didn’t even know him! With an irritated grunt, she scrubbed the inside of the toilet harder. How dare he demand that she make breakfast? On top of cleaning? He hadn’t even hired her!
The more she thought about his arrogant attitude the harder she scrubbed, until the entire bathroom was completely spotless.
It was a shame that the house had only been used for occasional visits and parties.
The bathrooms alone probably cost a fortune to build, with heated tile floors and huge hotel-like walk-in showers—they reminded her of a spa, not that she’d ever been to a spa. But she’d seen them on TV and read about them in books, and this was what she imagined they looked like.
Flawless, sparkling, immaculate.
“Is my grandfather paying you to stare in the mirrors all day?” Brock’s smooth voice broke the silence.
Jane gulped and clenched her rubber gloves together before she turned and arched her eyebrows. “I was just admiring my work.”
He stared at her for a good minute before scowling.
“I don’t want you cleaning the room next door.”
The only thing she knew about the room was that the door had pieces of white paper stuck to it, like stickers had been ripped off of it. Red designs drawn in marker circled the door knob—she assumed it had been a child’s room.
“Your grandfather’s instructions were specific. He said to clean every room and bathroom in the house. So yes, I am going to clean that room, because as stupid as it may sound I do take pride in what I do.”
That seemed to give him pause; his arrogant mask slipped, revealing something she didn’t really want to acknowledge.
Respect.
But as soon as she saw it, he stiffened. “I’ll talk to him.”
“But—”
“If he agrees with me, you stay out of the room.”
“What? Do you have bodies hidden in it?”
His face went pale. “You should probably move on to the next bathroom if you want to finish before dinner. After all, it won’t cook itself.”
Tears stung in the backs of her eyes.
What happened to the man at the club? The one who had rescued her? Bought her shoes, picked her up off the floor and flirted with her?
Suddenly Brock cursed under his breath. “Don’t move,” he whispered. Which was weird. But weirder still was the look on his face as he stared at the ceiling above her head.
Jane froze, but driven by curiosity, she slowly craned her neck to see what he was giving the death stare.
“I said,” Brock ground through clenched teeth, “don’t. Move.”
“But—”
“For fuck’s sake just stop arguing!”
Her shoulders slumped. Was it necessary to yell at her?
“Two mice.” His eyes narrowed. “And by the looks of them they’ve either eaten their young or been feeding off the donkey for the past few months.”
“Not the cock?” she mumbled.
Brock’s eyes heated, dipping down to her mouth before flashing with anger. “Clearly you don’t clean as well as you think.”
She refused to let the insult sting. “It’s a ranch house. They probably snuck in through a crack on the wall. I’ll shoo them away and you can start fixing things up, handyman.”
“Me?” He snorted. “No, no, I think that falls under the hired help category. Sorry, sweetheart.”