“Isn’t it, though?” Jane flashed him a giant, fake bright smile. “After all, you were the one who said to take care of the situation. I was just doing my job, right?”
“We should have come sooner,” mumbled Bentley.
“There was a mouse,” Brock said, not taking his eyes off Jane.
“The mouse tore your nipple off?” Brant winced.
“No, the clamp did that,” Jane said helpfully.
“So you were dressed up as mice?” Bentley blinked.
“Why don’t I go make dinner?” Jane interrupted. “And you can explain to your brothers why half of your nipple is most likely gone, and how you’re going to start being nice so the hired help isn’t tempted to set up traps in your bed while you sleep.”
With that she flounced off, leaving a whiff of vanilla and sugar behind her.
“I like her,” Bentley said in a low, lust-filled voice. “Any woman who threatens me is welcome on top”—he eyed Brock and kept talking—“or bottom. As long as I’m inside, I don’t give a fuck.”
Brock slammed him against the nearest wall. “Touch her and I swear I’ll kill you in your sleep.”
Bentley held up his hands and smirked. “I knew it.”
Brock released him. “Knew what?”
“You like the maid.”
“She’s…” What? Not a maid? But she was. Not that it mattered. She was Just Jane—sweet, spicy, beautiful Just Jane, and that was the real problem.
“She’s sexy.” Brant peered around the corner. “So what if she’s the help? She’s a person. A pretty, right-in-front-of-you person. According to the press you’ll be marching toward an arranged marriage in three weeks. Why not enjoy her now?”
“Good idea. I’ll just screw the maid and then marry someone else; why hadn’t I thought of that?” The temptation to run over both of his brothers with a car had never been so strong. What the hell were they thinking? Were they always this insensitive?
A feminine cough interrupted their fight. “I just, um, was wondering if you guys wanted to eat indoors or outdoors.”
“Indoors,” Bentley answered, and he had the decency to look ashamed at being caught talking about her like she was a piece of meat. “Thanks, Jane.”
Her smile was forced as she nodded and turned on her heel and left.
Chapter Nineteen
Jane pounded the chicken with the mallet over and over again, picturing Brock’s face with each whack.
Why was she so upset?
It wasn’t like he was wrong. She was the maid. It was her job, it was what she did, but he’d made her feel…low, dirty, like her job didn’t mean anything. Like by sleeping with her he’d be doing her a favor.
The arrogant prick!
Slam.
Pieces of chicken went flying.
Slam.
How dare he joke about sleeping with the maid?
Slam.
“Jane.” A warm hand cupped her shoulder. “You’re scaring Sheldon.”
She glanced up into Bentley’s emerald green eyes. “We have another dinner guest?”
“No, the donkey.”
“Fred?” She frowned.
Bentley’s expression mirrored her own. “Did you re-name my pet ass?”
“The list said his name was Fred.”
“What list?”
“The one on the fridge with all the names of the animals.” Jane pointed over her shoulder. “At least that’s what I assumed it was. Next to each animal is a name. Why else would it be there?”
Bentley pulled down the laminated piece of paper and burst out laughing. “My parents put these together.” He chuckled harder. “They’re approved of words to say instead of swearing. So if you want to say ass you say, ‘don’t be a Fred.’” He grinned. “Instead of saying suck my…” He grinned shamelessly. “You can say suck Mr. Feathers.”
Jane read the rest of the names—really read them. The list was like a kid’s glossary for saying naughty words.
“It all started when Brock learned the word ‘shit,’” Bentley said with amusement. “And things quickly went downhill from there. We turned it into a game, and well, now you know.”
Jane tried to keep herself from smiling at the thought of a young Brock strutting around the house screaming “shit” at the top of his lungs.
“He’s not always an ass, you know,” Bentley said in a gentle voice, his hand covering hers on the countertop.
“No?” Jane swallowed against a lump in her throat. “Just most the time, then?”
“He bought you shoes,” Bentley reminded her. “Really nice shoes.”
“Actually, you bought me shoes.”
“After he made me.” Bentley removed his hand and offered a wicked grin. “But hey, if you want to switch brothers I’m all for it.”
“Excuse me?” Jane sidestepped him to grab the butter out of the fridge.
Bentley laughed. “I’m kidding.”
Jane rolled her eyes.
“Sort of.” He shrugged. “Okay, so maybe like ten percent kidding? But apparently you only have eyes for the ass.”
“Fred?”
“Brock.”