Page 16 of The Thing About My Secret Billionaire
“If you think single-handedly looking after seventy-five acres and seventeen donkeys is some sort of vacation, you’ve clearly never done it.”
“Funnily enough, I haven’t. Funnily enough, the closest I’ve ever come is singing ‘Old McDonald.’” She taps some more. “Not getting any hits on your guy, though. Hmmm.”
A thump on the floor has me turning around to see Thelma strutting away, tail straight up in the air.
“Ooh.” I leap from the stool. “Thelma just got off the sheets. Gotta go.”
The cat spins around to face me.
“Keep me updated,” Paige says as I virtually hurl myself on top of the linen pile to prevent my feline enemy from reclaiming it.
“I’m going to take him his bedding.” I hold the phone up so it’s not muffled by the sheets. “And everything is going to be fine.”
I climb the barn stairs, running my fingers over the linens that will have Miller McSweeney’s naked body against them tonight.
Does he sleep in the nude?
It’s all Paige’s fault that I’m thinking about his bare flesh and these sheets and…for God’s sake, stop it.
“I’m back,” I call to warn him of my arrival, as if he might be in a compromising position and need to make himself decent before I get there.
“Hey.” His tone is low and familiar, like we’ve known each other for years and have traded secrets in late night chats.
When I’ve climbed high enough for my eyeline to rise above the level of the loft floor I can’t help the word “Wow” from falling from my lips.
“You’ve been busy,” I add.
The space is considerably cleaner and tidier than it was half an hour ago.
He is also a little different. He’s removed the boxy work jacket to reveal a blue plaid shirt that clings to all the important places, like the swell of his chest, the broad curve of his shoulders, the bulge of his biceps. The rolled back cuffs cut in at his elbow to reveal strong, corded forearms with a light dusting of dark hair.
Jesus. With a vision like this it’s hard to shove Paige’s suggestions out of my head.
“Found this downstairs.” He lifts up the broom he’s holding, his forearm muscles flexing. “So thought I’d get busy.”
There’s a sparkle in his eye that it’s possible to detect even from this side of the room and then, dear God, he rakes his other hand through his thick dark hair.
Do I have a cleaning kink I knew nothing about till this very moment?
Hell, I need to get my lady bits out of here beforethey explode.
“Here’s some bedding.” I bustle past him, dodging the pile of dust, scraps of yellowing paper, nails and other odds and ends that he’s swept neatly together.
Just as I’m about to put everything down on the cot, the broom drops to the floor with a clatter behind me and Miller appears by my side.
“I’ll take it.” He puts his arm out to stop me, his fingers brushing my right hand in a way that makes me a bit sad when it stops. “I want to wash down the bed with some soap and water before clean sheets go on it.”
That was not what I was expecting. But then what was I expecting from a seemingly wealthy nomad who apparently wants to camp in an old barn and take care of donkeys full time?
Is he a neat freak? The way the cot’s been shifted so it’s exactly flush with the back wall, and the fact that the table and some of the old cabinets have been lined up under the window, the table perfectly centered on the view, would suggest he might be.
“In fact, everything needs a washdown,” he says. “I found that old cloth to wipe off the thick of the dust, but to be honest, the cloth might have been dustier than what I was wiping.”
He has what Grandma would have called a Hollywood smile. One that tells you he’s the superstar in charge, but makes you feel special all at the same time.
I look around. “There isn’t really anywhere totally clean for me to put them down.”
“Hang on.” He lets go of the linens and strides across the room to grab his jacket from a hook that was probably banged into the wall about forty years ago. “This will do it.” He lays the jacket, inside facing up, on top of the set of drawers next to the table and taps it.
