Page 24 of Men or Paws
I grinned. “Eat some spaghetti to forgeti your regreti.”
She sighed. “Another proverb from Italian philosopher Rocco Romano?”
“No. I have a T-shirt that says that.” I chuckled.
“Wait, let me guess . . . a black T-shirt?”
“No comment.” I signed the contract and the addendum, passing them back to her. “And now that we’ve got the business out of the way. Let me give you a tour of the house, so you’re familiar with things.”
Beth glanced around with her eyes narrowed, like she was looking for answers. “Why do I need a tour of the main house if I’m staying in the guesthouse?”
“Oh, right . . . that. Oliver said there’s a possibility I may have to fly to New York to reshoot a scene that had some continuity issues in my last movie. I should know by tomorrow. If that’s the case, you’ll need to stay here in the main house while I’m gone, since this is where Houdini sleeps, and he doesn’t sleep alone.”
“You want me to sleep with Houdini?” Beth asked.
I chuckled. “Yes. Sleeping withhimis perfectly fine. Oh, and one other thing, you will need to sleep in my bed.”
Beth froze.
I was tempted to reach over and close her mouth for her.
Maybe I should’ve waited until she was settled in before telling her that last part.
ChapterFive
Beth
Rocco picked up my empty coffee cup and walked quietly to the kitchen, as if the suggestion of me sliding in between the satin sheets of his bed at night was no big deal at all.
Okay, I assumed his bed had satin sheets, but I had no idea what they were made of, obviously. Maybe he was a fan of high-count Egyptian cotton or those bamboo linens Josh raved about when he stayed at that fancy hotel on his comedy tour last year.
On the other hand, Rocco was so rough around the edges that maybe he didn’t use sheets because they would snag on his bed of nails.
Why was I even thinking about that? There was no way I was going to sleep in his bed, I didn’t care how much he was paying me. How could he even suggest such a thing? Maybe he just mentioned that to get a reaction out of me.
“I’m not sleeping in your bed,” I said, crossing my arms, holding my ground.
Rocco swung around toward me, my coffee cup still in his hands. “Why not?”
“Because it’s your bed,” I said, snatching my coffee cup back from him.
He shrugged. “And?”
“And, well . . . you sleep in it, there’s no way I’m going to.”
Rocco shook his head at me like I had a square head that wasn’t correctly installed on my round neck. “Seriously?” He pointed toward the window that looked out to the backyard. “I have slept in the guesthouse bed more than a few times, and you’re going to sleep in it tonight and every night for the next three weeks. What’s the difference?”
Maybe there wasn’t a difference when he put it that way, but just the thought of sleeping in Rocco’s bedroom felt like an invasion of his personal space, like I was traipsing into forbidden territory.
“Why would you sleep in the guesthouse?” I couldn’t help asking, wondering if he wouldn’t answer since it was a personal question.
“I slept there during the kitchen remodel. The dust was too much for me to handle.” Rocco stole the coffee cup back away from me and gestured to the appliances in the kitchen. “Do you like the upgrades? I’m sure a chef like yourself can appreciate them.”
Nice deflection.
And what a question.
When I sleep, I fantasize about kitchens, not men, so it shouldn’t be a surprise that I was slightly aroused when I saw the freestanding, sixty-six inch Viking natural gas range with eight burners and dual ovens.
