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.”
That seemed to give him pause; his arrogant mask slipped, revealing something she didn’t really want to acknowledge.
Respect.
But as soon as she saw it, he stiffened. “I’ll talk to him.”
“But—”
“If he agrees with me, you stay out of the room.”
“What? Do you have bodies hidden in it?”
His face went pale. “You should probably move on to the next bathroom if you want to finish before dinner. After all, it won’t cook itself.”
Tears stung in the backs of her eyes.
What happened to the man at the club? The one who had rescued her? Bought her shoes, picked her up off the floor and flirted with her?
Suddenly Brock cursed under his breath. “Don’t move,” he whispered. Which was weird. But weirder still was the look on his face as he stared at the ceiling above her head.
Jane froze, but driven by curiosity, she slowly craned her neck to see what he was giving the death stare.
“I said,” Brock ground through clenched teeth, “don’t. Move.”
“But—”
“For fuck’s sake just stop arguing!”
Her shoulders slumped. Was it necessary to yell at her?
“Two mice.” His eyes narrowed. “And by the looks of them they’ve either eaten their young or been feeding off the donkey for the past few months.”
“Not the cock?” she mumbled.
Brock’s eyes heated, dipping down to her mouth before flashing with anger. “Clearly you don’t clean as well as you think.”
She refused to let the insult sting. “It’s a ranch house. They probably snuck in through a crack on the wall. I’ll shoo them away and you can start fixing things up, handyman.”
“Me?” He snorted. “No, no, I think that falls under the hired help category. Sorry, sweetheart.”
“Hunh.”
“What?” He frowned. “What’s that look?”
“I just should have expected someone like you to be like this. I bet you get manicures, too…and since you probably don’t want to get a sliver, I guess I’ll have to step up. Where’s your hammer?”
“Let’s leave my hammer out of this.”
“The real hammer, not the sexual one you’re envisioning in your mind in order to distract me from the fact that you’re a spoiled, silver spoon-fed city boy with the brain of a gnat.”
He burst out laughing. “You think you know all about me, hunh?”
“Not much to know,” she challenged, crossing her arms. “At least from this vantage point.” She made sure to lower her eyes and smirk. “Nothing at all.”
He took a step toward her but she backed away. “I’ll be back. It seems I have a rat to deal with.”
“They’re mice,” he called after her.
“Wasn’t talking about them!” She yelled back, making her way down the stairs and out the screen door. It slammed behind her.
The hot Arizona sun burned down on her skin.
The bastard!
She took a few deep breaths and glanced back at the house. Could he be more insulting?
Okay, she sighed. If I was a mousetrap where would I hide?
After a few minutes rummaging in the barn, where the ass was currently watching her with terrifying intensity, she found some rat poison and two mousetraps.
She walked back into the house, grabbed some peanut butter for the traps, then carefully walked up the stairs.
Brock hadn’t moved from his spot. Instead, he was staring into the bathroom as if he’d just seen a ghost.
“Move.” She pushed by him.
“Maybe we should just shut the door,” He offered in a quiet voice.
She jerked away from his body. “Shut the door? And what? Let the mice just spread throughout the house?”
He seemed unsure, and then with a nod stepped away from her as she made her way back into the bathroom.
Both mice were huddled in the corner, as if people didn’t bother them one bit.
Were they pets or something?