“Did you, though?” She asked coyly. A silent taunt rose out of those eyes, and then she pressed her lips together in a way that had him hard in seconds.
The rooster started flapping again.
“Still got that gun?” he asked.
“You aren’t shooting the cock.”
He grinned. “Cock?”
“I mean rooster.” She blushed bright red.
“Did you, though?”
“Very funny.”
She grabbed some paper towels and started cleaning the eggs off the floor.
“Let me help.” He knelt beside her but she jerked away from him.
“I’ve got it. After all, you told me I needed to do my damn job, right?”
Brock opened his mouth to speak, but she didn’t let him get a word in edgewise.
“I’m going to be cleaning the upstairs bathrooms along with the two extra guest rooms on the far end of the hall. If you need me, you know where to find me.”
He didn’t want her to leave.
But what could he do to get her to stay?
Nothing.
Because her job was not to entertain him or save him from farm animals.
But then she turned and gave him a half-shy smile, and he knew self-preservation was all that mattered.
Push her away.
He pasted an arrogant grin on his face. “But what about breakfast?”
“That wasn’t part of the job description,” she said slowly. “Your grandfather said—”
“I just talked with him last night. He said you’re here to help get the house ready for the new tenants, right?” God, he was a jackass.
She gave him a weak nod.
“And since I’m the new tenant, don’t you think that probably extends to cooking? You’re already cleaning, and it is part of your service, you know.”
“Service?” There was that fiery glint again. Perhaps this wasn’t his best idea. But he just couldn’t seem to stop himself from being an ass.
“It says Cinderella Cleaning and Housekeeping on your nice shiny van.” He’d seen it on his way out to the barn and done a double take over the silly tiara on the side. Maid service. Didn’t that mean she cooked, too? “If you don’t cook that’s false advertising. At least, that’s what I’ll say when I give you a review on Yelp.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you threatening me?” Her chest heaved. He tried to look away. Tried and failed.
“That depends. Will you cook?”
Her hands balled into tight fists. “You know you could have asked nicely and I might have said yes. You don’t have to be an ass. We already have Fred.”
“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.”