Designated Hitter (Reedsville Roosters Book 4) Read online

  He bowed slightly. “You’re welcome anyway.”

  She sipped and pressed a couple of paint color cards against the wall. Ten shades of taupe. “In morning light, the one I thought I was going to use looks too cool. I’m going to go with this one.” She tapped a color, that to him, looked more beige than white. He had to admit that it did seem to “go” with the trim a little better than the other she held up.

  “Nice and neutral,” he said.

  “Yeah. I get less whining from the potential homeowners that way. I like to remove any possible reasonable excuses they might have to not make an offer.”

  “I think people are petty as hell if they’re going to complain about paint, but what do I know? You gonna tell the crew, or should I?”

  She crossed her eyes and let her lips sputter.

  He couldn’t help but to chuckle.

  Dammit, she’s cute.

  He didn’t want her to be cute. He’d try even harder to be nice even when there was no way in hell she was going to reciprocate for very long. Rich women like her usually found the limits of their endurance with him at around four hours into their arrangements. At that point, he either needed to put out or leave. Quinn liked putting out, but not on the clock. So, he always left.

  “People complain about anything, if they have the chance,” she mused quietly.

  “Yeah, they do.”

  Glancing at the face of her delicate gold watch, she groaned. “Do you mind telling them?”

  “That’s what you hired me for, isn’t it?”

  “I seem to have forgotten that.”

  “You make a habit of hiring people who don’t do what you pay them to?”

  “No, I seem to make a habit of hiring people who do what I pay them to on their own timeline in spite of any agreements that they do it sooner. Like with my ex.” Her lips twitched at one corner and nostrils flared.

  What’s that about? Admittedly, he hadn’t done such a great job at following the exploits of Marina Cassevetes when he’d been contracted by the Roosters, but he should have known if there’d been a guy. Marina went to a lot of games, and she was too beautiful to ignore.

  “I’ve had to become increasingly hard-ass about negotiating,” she said. “Honestly, I’m tired of it.”

  “So, obvious question—why do you do this?”

  “Because the money’s good, transforming these properties is fun, and I like having a flexible schedule so I can jump on last-minute travel deals.”

  “Oh, yeah? Where ya goin’?” He didn’t really expect her to answer, but he really was curious. He’d assumed for years that she was one of those ladies of leisure who had more money than motivation, but he’d perhaps misjudged her. At least on that.

  She shrugged and started toward the stairway. “I don’t have anything planned at the moment. My travel agent sends me listings every few days trying to entice me into a booking, but fortunately, I’m pretty disciplined. I don’t book anything unless a house is done. I’m supposed to be on vacation right now, actually.” At the bottom of the stairs, she added, “So, I don’t put that much stock in guarantees. I never let myself think a trip is going to happen until I actually get my ass to the airport. Then I believe it’s real.”

  “You’re practical. That’s good.” Practical was respectable to a cowboy like him.

  “Yeah, my father accuses me of that enough for me to believe it’s true. Sometimes, though, I’m practical at the expense of pleasure. I miss having fun.”

  Me, too.

  She paused at the front door and held up the coffee. “Thanks for this. Really.”

  Her grin was soft. Genuine. So pretty. It made him grin back.

  She looked away, down at her coffee lid. “Uh…call me if you need anything, but I should be back by lunch.”

  “Gone that long?” For some reason he’d let himself believe that she’d be a little more present, but that didn’t make sense. She’d said she needed a stand-in, so of course she wouldn’t have been there. “I’ll be okay, I guess, but what if the guy has questions before you get back?”

  “Have you painted a house before?”

  “Well, yeah, I’ve painted, but nothing the size of this.”

  “Paint’s paint, Quinn. Use common sense and don’t make him think you don’t have the authority to answer. Freakin’ contractors are like hawks, circling around and waiting for you to show some sign of weakness so they can swoop in for the kill.” She rolled her eyes and shuddered.

  He stifled a laugh. He was starting to wonder if she were really as staid as she usually let on. “And what should I do while they’re painting? I can’t just sit around twiddling my thumbs.”

  She pushed up one perfectly arched eyebrow and opened the door. “Most folks would love to sit around, do nothing, and be paid for it.”

  “I’m a cowboy. I gotta be moving.”

  “Okay, cowboy,” she said in a low, sultry tone that made his face hot and his nuts throb.

  Jesus.

  She put her free hand on her hip and stared daringly at him as she sipped coffee.

  Whatever the dare was, he wanted to take it. He didn’t know how any man could tell her no when she sounded like that and looked like that.

  “Really want to get your hands dirty?” she asked.

  “Can’t just stand around looking pretty.”

  “Apparently, some manservants are hired to do exactly that.”

  “True.” Quinn’s roommate, Gary, was one of them. “But give me something to do.” Let me show you I can do something.

  “Okay. I know. You could save me some time and money by pulling up the linoleum in the laundry room. Gotta get the appliances out first, though.” She raised her eyebrows slowly as if expecting him to let her down already.

  He wouldn’t.

  “I’ll figure it out. What else?”

  Brow now furrowed, she sipped her coffee, fixing her chocolate brown gaze on him. She smoothed some errant hairs back behind her ears, and he noticed then her flushed cheeks and nervously flitting hands. It seemed she’d changed her mind just that fast about asking him.

  She’s afraid of me? For fuck’s sake!

  He let out a breath and tried to soften his expression make his stance less aggressive and confrontational. “Come on, Marina. If you’re gonna pay me to do a job, then give me something to do.”

  She let out a ragged exhalation and rolled her gaze up to him. “Okay. Well, there’s shoddy shelving in the closets of two of the smaller bedrooms upstairs.”

  “Yeah?” Lay it on me, honey. Not gonna tell you no yet.

  “Think you can get it out without damaging the drywall?”

  “If I ding, I can patch. I’ll do that first before the painting crew makes it to those rooms.”

  “The last time I asked someone to be careful,” she said softly, “he threw a tantrum. I lost a day from my schedule and two years of my life to a relationship that was going nowhere fast.”

  He whistled low, having no better response to that. Shit.

  “I don’t…want to deal with that, Quinn.”

  “I get it.” Whoever the asshole was who’d screwed her over deserved a punch to the nose. It drove him fucking nuts when people didn’t pull their weight. “Don’t worry about a thing. If you remember anything else, just let me know.”

  “Thank you, Quinn,” she said.

  Then she was gone—her dress’s bouncy skirt swishing behind her as she ran gracefully down the path toward her Beamer.

  She looked like a runner—toned and lithe in her sundress. Lovely and tanned. Some of that shimmering bronze hue had been a gift from her father—the Greek asshole. The rest had been imparted by the sun, and he wondered where her tan lines would be. Top on or off at the beach? Tempting brown nipples or golden ones?

  He scoffed at himself, and pushed off the doorframe.

  One donut, maybe two, and then he had shit to do.

  He wasn’t going to stand around pondering what was beneath Marina Cassave
tes’s clothes. As it was, what was visible to the naked eye was far too tantalizing, and he didn’t want her to come back and find that he hadn’t gotten done what he’d promised.

  He could prove he wasn’t a disappointment. He needed someone to believe that, even if he didn’t always believe it himself.

  ___

  Marina found Quinn on all fours facing a corner of the laundry room when she returned to the paint-smelling house, and damned if she didn’t like the sight.

  “That’s a good position for you,” wagged her loose tongue.

  Fuck. She would have thunked her forehead with her palm if she had been able to do it with any semblance of grace.

  Quinn glanced over his shoulder, brow furrowed.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Forgot where I was for a moment.”

  “You’re so used to seeing men down on hands and knees? Where do you hang out besides houses with outdated decor filled with day laborers?”

  She smiled to suppress a cringe. “Nowhere interesting.” Nowhere you need to know about. The last thing she needed was to think about Quinn bound and gagged and utterly submissive.

  Her pussy gave an entreating clench anyway. Quinn, silent and waiting? The thought would have elicited wet dreams from even the most staunchly celibate of women, and at the moment, Marina probably qualified pretty well for that category. She hadn’t wanted to play lately.

  He bobbed his eyebrows and faced the corner again. “I saw some mold down in this corner.”

  “Don’t cuss at me, Quinn.”

  He chuckled, and sat back on his heels. “Mold’s one of those bad four-letter words, huh? Yeah, I reckon you wouldn’t want to have to deal with it in a fast flip like this, but it’s there.”

  “How much?”

  He grunted and stood. “Not much. Washer hose got loose or something and water puddled because of it. The water was probably left down there long enough that it seeped beneath the trim. The humidity here keeps water from evaporating fast enough that it won’t do any damage.”

  “Just that corner, then?”

  “Yeah, it’s not extensive. Looks like it’s just the two edges of the trim and the particleboard of the subfloor. In a room this small, that’s an easy fix.”

  “That’s what everyone says when there’s a problem.” And that fixing it was easy…with the right amount of money.

  She gnawed on the inside of her cheek and visualized the project calendar.

  They can probably do this room last. If push comes to shove, I’ll lay down the tiles and paint in here myself.

  She looked at Quinn, who seemed to be waiting expectantly. She could get used to that, and mentally scolded herself for even thinking it. There was no way in hell she was keeping Quinn, even if he did appear to be pretty handy to have around. That didn’t negate the fact that he was still walking, talking trouble.

  “You’re thinking too hard,” he said with another chuckle. “Really. It’s got to be fixed, but it’s not that bad. Anyone could do it.”

  “Do you know how to fix it?”

  “Yeah. Ranch hands pick up all sorts of useful skills when they’re not tending the herds. Done more than enough construction work off ranches, too. Whatever was paying the best at the time was what I did.”

  “You get around, huh?”

  He drew in a long breath and jammed his hands into the pockets of his khakis. “Don’t have a choice. Gotta work. Got bills to pay.”

  “Shouldn’t you—” She clamped her lips on the question and stepped out of the cramped room. His financial situation was none of her business. “Do you want lunch? It sounds like everyone has taken a break for it. You might as well, too.”

  “I want to finish this. I hate leaving projects undone when they could be finished in a few hours.”

  She turned her back to him and stared at the hallway wall so she didn’t have to keep trying so hard to keep the looks of surprise off her face. Either the guy wasn’t the lazy layabout she’d thought he was, or he was doing a damned good job of pulling the wool over her eyes. She really hoped the latter wasn’t the case. If he turned out to be a dud, she’d probably put off her plans of hiring the project manager she needed. It was so hard to trust people after her ex Zach’s childish antics.

  Don’t think about him. Thoughts of him were just going to get her flustered and angry, and she didn’t want to lash out at people about past transgressions they had nothing to do with.

  “You’ve got to get supplies, don’t you?” she asked, and turned to face him again.

  “I’ll go get them now and run back.”

  “I’ve got an account at the building supply store, but eat first. Come on.” She canted her head toward the hallway.

  It seemed she was inviting him along. That hadn’t been her intention when she went looking for him, but the idea didn’t bother her so much. She spent so much time eating alone it had become her normal, and she’d come to prefer being in her own company than with someone else who hit all the right talking points but all the wrong buttons. Quinn hit the right buttons, but she wasn’t so sure she wanted to hear him talk.

  He squeezed past the washer and dryer.

  She gestured toward the back door. “Drinks are in the cooler out there. We could share a sub.”

  He chuckled.

  “That funny?”

  “Sorry. My mind just went to a very salacious place.”

  “Do tell.”

  “Nah. Wouldn’t want to scandalize you.”

  She rolled her eyes and shouldered open yet another sticking door. She needed to add those doors to her list of things to have the carpenter look at…or rather for Quinn to have the carpenter look at. “You’d be surprised at how hard to stun I am.” Kneeling in front of the cooler of drinks, she rooted out an ice-cold bottle of water, handed it to Quinn, and then plucked out another. From beside the cooler, she grabbed the canvas sack of deli food she’d deposited upon return. “We can sit in the gazebo. No paint smell there, and there’s a little shade.”

  He folded his arms over his chest and grinned in that frustrating way that made her belly flutter. “You gonna sit and have lunch with me?”

  “Only if you tell me what the joke was.”

  “You really want to know?” he asked.

  “I wouldn’t have wasted my breath speaking if I didn’t.”

  “All right, then. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. You said we could share a sub, and I started thinking about how it takes a special kind of person to be shared like that.”

  His meaning settled into her brain in pieces. He meant sub as in submissive. Even with her gutter-dwelling mind, she hadn’t picked up the double-entendre.

  She swallowed and resisted the urge to drag the cool water bottle across her warm brow. “I take it you’re not the kind of man who’d like to be shared.”

  He grunted and took the bag from her. He started walking, and she followed, somehow managing to keep her gaze above the waist. “Nah. I can only have one person bossing me around at a time.”

  “And do you prefer that? Being bossed around, I mean.”

  He stepped up into the elevated gazebo and set the bag on the bench. The gaze he fixed on her was both intense and wary—like he was choosing his words carefully because he had to speak, had to put that information out there for her to consume, but didn’t want it to bite him in the ass.

  Tell me, Quinn.

  The fact he’d filtered himself at all was a good thing. It meant that he learned, and was mindful of how his words would affect the people he said them to. Another thing she hadn’t thought him capable of.

  “Most of the time I prefer it,” he said finally. “Sometimes, though, I like to have a say. Some folks don’t like that. They like you to be one way or the other. Not both.”

  “You’re a switch?”

  The shock that registered on his face was fleeting.

  She suspected that he was practiced in keeping his expressions neutral, but he didn’t always bother. He didn’t speak, jus
t sipped.

  She watched. She wasn’t going to direct the conversation yet because she wanted him to say as much or as little as he needed to without her leading him. Curious as she was, she wouldn’t ask any probing questions. Generally, she reserved those for partners she wanted to keep. She didn’t want to keep Quinn…or at least, she didn’t think she did. She was becoming less certain.

  He twisted the cap back on and raised a querying gaze to her. “I think it depends on who I’m with and what I need from them. I guess I’m a switch with stronger compulsions one way over the other.”

  Which way? She wanted to ask, but she couldn’t really ask that without dropping a few hints about her own preferences. It was a topic wholly unsuitable for a professional environment.

  She reached into the bag and pulled out containers that held her favorite salads. One, she gave to Quinn along with a plastic fork. She reserved the other for herself and then reached into the bag for the foot-long sandwich.

  “You were going to eat that whole thing yourself?” he asked.

  “Maybe I have a big appetite.”

  He bobbed his brows. “I know I sure do, when I’m in the mood.” His crooked grin and heated gaze hinted that perhaps he wasn’t referencing food.

  They should have never taken the conversation to that place, but since they had, she had to ask some questions. The curiosity was going to drive her to distraction for the rest of the afternoon, and she had too much to do. She pulled her stare away from him and unwrapped the sandwich. “This conversation has taken on a decidedly unprofessional bent, but I’m going to ask this question anyway.”

  “Let me have it. I’m sufficiently braced.”

  “Good. How’d you come to learn about your…appetites?” She risked a look up at him and watched him working the cap of his water between his fingers.

  For a minute, he watched her watch him, but then leaned back against the bench and shrugged. “Trial and error like everyone else.”

  “Lots of trials?” Lots of fleeting girlfriends. Lots of playmates at The Den, probably. He didn’t have a reputation for monogamy. But then again, neither did she lately.

  Nice application of double standard.

  He didn’t answer. He peeled the lid off the macaroni salad and tipped the container toward her.