Brock took one look around the room—at the dozens of pictures of his once happy family—of his parents— lining the walls—and dead center—a picture of his Grandfather.
His vision tunneled to black as the meaning of his presence at the house settled fully on his shoulders.
Another man would be able to raise his hand and brush away the streak of mud from her cheek. He’d kiss the frown from her face and ask her how it was possible that she’d gone so many years without knowing how devastating an effect she had on the male population.
On him.
But his reality had never been more clear.
“It’s my house,” he said finally. Needing to say the words out loud so that she understood and maybe so he would, too.
“Okay.”
They stood in tense silence. He wasn’t sure what else there was to say so he defaulted—to the familiar.
“You probably have things to clean.” Apparently being a jackass was how he was the most comfortable. He inwardly cursed himself as he saw her hurt expression.
“Yes.” She nodded, breaking eye contact. “Yes, um, of course. Yes sir.” Was it his imagination or was she shaking?
“I’m going upstairs to take a shower.” He called over his shoulder and stomped off.
Leaving the ghosts of his family behind.
Leaving Jane.
Chapter Thirteen
Jane let out a loud exhale once she was sure that Brock was out of hearing distance. He seemed bigger than before, more masculine, if that were even possible. At the club he’d done nothing but give her the impression that he was a kind, generous man. But here…here they were on his turf. And it was glaringly obvious they were from vastly different worlds.
This was his house. And she was cleaning it.
She’d physically flinched, as if he’d punched her in the stomach when he’d basically told her to clean up after him.
Stupid. She was so stupid to think he would be interested.
Just because he’d done a nice thing for her at the party did not mean he wanted to sleep with the help.
A laugh built up inside her chest, threatening to escape. But of course she’d be attracted to someone like him, someone who embodied security, beauty, family, everything she’d always wanted wrapped up into one shiny package. Prince Charming he was not.
Sighing, she moved down the hall and into her bedroom. Thinking she’d be the only one staying at the house, she’d taken the master. Embarrassed, she managed to stuff most of her belongings back into her suitcase and roll it down the hall to the next available room. If Brock was going to stay here, she had no business being in the master suite, although she’d been dreaming of taking a bath in that tub—heck, more like swimming in it. But she’d be fine; all of the guest rooms were beautiful.
With a shrug, she pushed open the door to the room she’d chosen and wheeled her suitcase in, then pulled out some of her clothes and started putting them in the dresser drawers. The room was quaint, around two hundred square feet, with floor-to-ceiling windows on the east wall, and an attached bathroom. It was perfect for her.
Jane located a bulky sweatshirt and hurriedly peeled off her wet T-shirt, flinching at the sucking sound it made when she pulled the fabric over her head.
“What the hell are you doing?” Brock’s voice came from behind her just as the shirt got caught on one of her earrings.
Panicked, she twisted as she tried to pull the shirt back down, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Um…” Realizing she was almost facing him now, Jane turned away from the direction of his voice. “I was changing my clothes. Why are you in my room?”
“Your room?” His voice rose. “And here I thought it was my house.”
Well, that was an asinine thing to say! “So why aren’t you in the master bedroom?”
“I don’t stay there,” he barked.
How was she supposed to know that?
“It’s the bigger room, and since you’re moving in, I just assumed—”
“Is this part of the deal? You clean my house and strip for me after hours?”
Tears threatened. What a complete jackass! “I’m sort of—stuck.”
“Stuck?”
“Are you just going to repeat everything I say?”
He didn’t respond.
Whatever.
He was clearly still there. She could feel his presence, watching her. Thank God she was wearing her good bra.
She gave another tug and was able to get part of the shirt back down, but the other half was still stuck on her earring and over her head.
“I would help but…” Brock’s voice was closer. Her body buzzed with awareness. “I think I like watching you struggle a hell of a lot more.”
“I’ve got it,” she snapped, trying to put some distance between them.
“Yes.” His voice held mild amusement as she tugged harder. At this rate, she was going to pull her ear off. “I can see that.”
“Damn it!” She stomped her foot and he sucked in a breath. “Brock?”
“Yes, Just Jane.”
“I think…I need help.”
“You think?”
“You don’t have to be a jackass.”
“I know I don’t have to be…”
This night needed to be over already. Jane’s right arm was cramping, and she’d been flashing poor Brock for the past five minutes.
“Here.” Brock’s breath was warm on her neck. “Allow me.”