Page 46 of Cocky Prince
He grins mischievously. “What you asked.”Wham.He slams the face of the hammer into the wall, then uses the claw to rip away a chunk of brittle white board.
I gape at the hole. Then him. Then the hole again. “Is this wise?”
I figured he would have backed out by now and admitted he couldn’t do the work. I should have someone qualified building this, not Adam Cade.
He brushes white powder from his shirt and peers inside the wall. “You said you wanted a walk-in.” He looks over and cocks his brow. “For yourshoes.”Wham. He slams the hammer down, knocking away more of the surface separating the closet from my bedroom. “And if that’s the case, you’ll need an entrance.”
Insulation and white chalk float in the air, creating a cloud of dust and other crap.
“I can’t watch,” I murmur, and move into the living room.
I take a seat on the couch cross-legged, and flinch every time Adam bangs at my wall. He was right. This is a big project. What was I thinking?
I know what I was thinking. I wanted to punish him. Except I’m the one who will be punished when my “walk-in” comes out misshapen and nonfunctional.
It’s my fault. I was prideful about work. Granted, I was right about Bridget. But still, why did I make a bet with Adam? Nothing good comes from gambling with a man who makes you mad with frustration one moment, and mad with lust the next.
After an hour of banging and ripping sounds fill my house, Adam calls me into the bedroom. And he has a power saw in his hand, tarps draped over the floor and other surfaces.
“What’s that for?” My voice is high-pitched.
He raps his knuckles on the wood paneling. “Need a hole where the new closet will go. I’ve measured it out, but I just wanted to make sure it’s a standard door you’re putting in before I cut.”
“Don’t you dare cut up my walls.”
He lowers the saw. “Hayden, how do you expect to have a walk-in closet without an opening you can walk through? You said you wanted an entrance directly into the bedroom.”
I throw up my hands. “I don’t know. But these are my pretty walls.” I walk over and pet the wood. “What if you ruin them?”
He sighs. “Do you trust me?”
“Hell no. You’re a pretty boy who shouldn’t be holding power tools.”
He shakes his head and steps forward, lifting my chin with the tip of one lightly callused finger that has no right being callused, according to my stereotype. “You really think that of me?” His eyes are intent. He’s forcing me to admit what I’ve never allowed myself to.
Somewhere along the way I stopped viewing Adam as a spoiled little rich boy. He’s a hard worker, whom I respect more than I like to acknowledge. He challenges me. But more important, Adam has always treated me like an equal. He’s not one of the Neanderthals we work with. And I suspect there’s even a sensitive side to him.
“No, I don’t think that of you,” I finally say.
He drops his hand, only to reach for my palm and twine our fingers. My heartbeat ratchets up a notch. He tucks our clasped hands against my belly and steps forward, pushing until I’m forced to take a step back. And another, until I’m in the hall.
He slides his fingers from mine, sending zingers of electricity up my arm, and looks at me pointedly. “Stay here, where it’s safe.”
Adam moves in front of the paneled wall, lowers protective glasses from the top of his head, and fires up the saw.
I cover my ears as he makes the first cut, and run for cover in the living room.
Shockingly, I do trust Adam to work on my house, which says a lot, because I put my entire savings into buying this place from my parents.
Hours pass as I try to work while not flinching every time Adam makes a loud sound. Finally, he enters the living room, carrying his toolbox.
I swing my legs off the couch and stand. “Everything okay?” I peer around him toward the hallway. “That was fast. Is it all done?”
He tucks a measuring tape in his back pocket. “Not even close. I’ll return tomorrow. A little later than today, probably—around one. I have some things to take care of for work. I’ll be by after that.” He rubs his chin, leaving a hint of dirt behind that matches the faint dark lines beneath his eyes.
“Work on a Sunday?” I say.
He glances at my laptop and raises his eyebrow.
