Page 4 of A Royal Disaster
“Oh, right.” Lena turned back to Nia. “This is… Sorry. I don’t actually know your name,” she said, flames licking at the back of her neck.
Could this be more awkward?
He smiled and, despite the splatters of paint on his face, she had to admit he was sexy. Now that she wasn’t so focused on avoiding another lawsuit, she could appreciate the way his features came together with perfect symmetry.
Under different circumstances, she would’ve loved to draw him. He had the kind of cheekbones most women dreamed of, high and delicate, a perfect complement to his square jaw and strong, straight nose. His eyes were blue, but not the bright cerulean and topaz shades that were so highly coveted. They were pale—nearly gray—like the color of melting ice, a sharp contrast to his dark hair, which shone like obsidian.
“Liam Stanley.”
“I’m Lena, and that’s Nia,” she said, offering her hand. Liam extended his own paint-slick hand, giving her pause. “Uh, maybe we can do that part later.” She yanked her hand back and jerked her head toward the storage room. “Let’s get you cleaned up first.”
Liam laughed, a low rumble that set her insides quivering, and she found herself smiling right along with him as she led him behind the counter to the storage area that housed extra supplies, the kiln, and her tiny office. She rummaged around the utility sink and offered him a roll of paper towels and a scrub brush.
“Thanks,” he said, accepting the cleaning supplies and glancing down at himself. “I have to admit, I’m not even sure where to start.”
“Um, I’ll pay to have your suit cleaned,” she offered, determined to do the right thing even if it meant she’d be tight on cash.
He lifted his chin and smirked. “Pretty sure it’s beyond salvage.”
Mierda. Lena’s heart sank. She’d have to buy him a new one, then. God, she hoped it wouldn’t be too expensive. It looked expensive. Oh, who was she kidding? Even his shoes appeared to be way out of her price range. Most guys she knew didn’t even care about shoes, but the ones who did? They wore designer labels.
She was so screwed. First the lawsuit. Now this?
“I’ll tell you what,” Liam said, positioning the cleaning supplies on the back of the sink. “If you help me get cleaned up, we’ll call it even. I was going to donate the suit anyway, so no harm done, but I can’t go back out on the street like this.”
Lena pressed her lips flat. Aside from the paint, the suit was in mint condition. Either he was one of those people who never wore the same thing twice or he was letting her off the hook because she obviously couldn’t afford to replace it.
It was a kind gesture, but the idea of being so pitiable grated. She was not a charity case. She busted her butt running her own business and making a difference in the community where she’d grown up, and she didn’t need any help.
Except, maybe this time she did.
“What do you say?” he asked, the words floating across her skin like a warm caress. He had a nice voice, smooth like honey and an accent—British maybe?—that probably made all the girls drop their panties.
“Sure.” Lena sighed and gestured for him to spin around. He complied and started to shrug out of his jacket. She caught the scent of his cologne under the paint fumes, a heady combination of sandalwood and jasmine that had her inhaling more deeply as she grabbed the jacket and pulled it down over surprisingly well-muscled arms. The man smelled like a dream, but her momentary bliss was shattered when she glanced at the label of his jacket and confirmed she most definitely could not afford this. Pride smarting, she hung the jacket over the lip of the sink, unable to bring herself to throw it away.
Liam started to roll up his sleeves, but Lena shook her head.
“What?” he asked, the question sounding like a statement and giving the clear impression he was used to commanding the room.
“Lose the shirt,” Lena said, determined not to blush again. Sure, he was hot, but this wasn’t about ogling the hottie. It was about making him presentable. Never mind that no woman in her right mind would be turned off by a little paint.
He looked like he was ready for one of those sex games where you painted each other with edible chocolate and licked it off. Except for the fact that the paint was acrylic and highly toxic. But, you know, other than that, he looked good enough to eat.
Not that she was thinking about licking his eggplant.
God, was she hungry or horny? It was hard to tell. It had been six hours since breakfast and six months since she’d had sex. Could be either. “The shirt is toast, but it’ll be easier to wash your face and hair without it.”
He gave a curt nod. “Good point.” He began to unbutton his shirt, and Lena’s pulse quickened as his fingers moved nimbly from one button the next, revealing a swath of taut flesh and hard muscle. Watching him undress was a strangely intimate act, one that caused her pulse to flutter as she imagined other scenarios where he might remove more clothing for her viewing pleasure.
Ay bendito.
Liam slipped out of his shirt and draped it over his jacket. Then he turned the faucet on and began washing, scrubbing meticulously at the fast-drying paint. With his attention elsewhere, she couldn’t help but admire the hard ridges and planes of his broad shoulders and the way his back tapered to a firm, trim waist.
Geez, couldn’t the guy have one measly flaw? Other than trespassing. Because the whole trespassing thing? It was feeling like a minor infraction compared to the peep show she was getting.
As if sensing her thoughts, he straightened and water dripped from his hair, running down his back in tiny rivulets. Lena’s breath hitched, and she swore his muscles tensed, although he didn’t turn to face her.
Quit staring like a perv!
