He smelled like pine soap.
Not Pine-Sol, but pine soap, the kind that reminds a person of cozy nights sipping wine by the fire.
Not that she’d ever really had any nights like that—at least not recently—but still, he reminded her of warmth.
Oh heck, it wasn’t even warmth; that word made him sound boring, like he was temperate—rather than hot, sizzling to the touch.
Jane shivered as the memory of his hands pounded through her body. It was as if he was touching her all over again, pulling her shirt from her body and gazing at her like she possessed something he wanted.
Too bad he’d turned into a complete tool.
“Are you okay?” Brock’s voice interrupted her scrubbing.
Jane stood too fast, nearly knocking over the bucket of soapy water, and pressed a wet hand and rag to her face, causing dirty water to run down her chin. “I was just…scrubbing.” Great, was he going to accuse her of doing that wrong, too? It was bad enough that she’d apparently broken a family heirloom.
“Scrubbing.” He wiped his face with his hands and let out a frustrated sigh. He might be beautiful to look at but tension rolled off him in waves. And when he opened that gorgeous mouth, at least since this morning, all he’d had to offer were angry biting words.
With a curse, he seemed to force a smile that looked more irritated than amused. It was a smile that reminded her yet again she didn’t really belong in his world, let alone his house.
He didn’t want her here anymore than she wanted to be here.
With him.
Trapped.
She took a few steps back and nodded. “I’m almost done cleaning the mud off these floors and then I’ll go back to my room—your room.” She frowned. “Well, my room now and…” She nodded again. Why? Why was she suddenly afflicted with one ability? Nodding in his direction and embarrassing herself.
“Why?” He barked out gruffly.
“Hmm?” She blinked up at his face, trying to keep herself from staring at the way his T-shirt molded to each and every one of his muscles.
“Why are you going to your room?” He said it more slowly this time, drawing out the sentence as if she was stupid, which grated on her nerves. It wasn’t like people had never talked down to her before; she just didn’t expect him to.
Not the man who’d bought her shoes.
And made her feel like a real life Cinderella.
Better that the dream got shattered before she started the hero worship, she decided. He was just like every other man out there.
Embarrassment washed over her as she croaked out, “It’s been a long night.”
“It has,” he agreed.
The staredown that followed had her suddenly wishing she was wearing a sweater she could pull across her body. Brock apparently wasn’t the type of man who stared; he looked through people with a laser-like intensity that had a way of making her feel naked and way too hot.
With a gulp, she bent down to retrieve the bucket of soapy water and begged her legs to move faster as she scurried past him and dumped the water into the sink.
Ignore him.
She could ignore him, right?
After all, it wasn’t like he was going to be following her around, offering his help or advice on how best to get stains out of the carpet.
That idea was laughable.
He probably didn’t even know how to iron a shirt.
“Something funny?” came a raspy voice behind her, causing her to jump a foot and let out a little squeak.
“Just…” She gulped. “Nope. Nothing at all.”
A large masculine hand moved into her line of vision and turned off the faucet. “Just Jane, I think we should talk.”
She fought to keep her shoulders from slumping. After all, she knew that tone of voice, so well in fact that she had these types of speeches memorized by heart.
Every human voice in existence sounded just this way when relaying bad news. The doctors had when her father was diagnosed with cancer and there was nothing they could do, so had her boyfriends who’d gotten bored; even past employers, when upset with her work, had this type of voice.
She should be used to it.
But coming from a man like him? A man that a few days ago had been like a dream, a dream she could rely on to take her away from the monotony of her life…well, it affected her more than it should.
He affected her more than a stranger should.
“Okay.” She managed to turn around and keep her face impassive.
His crystal blue eyes searched hers briefly before he crossed his arms over his bulky chest. “Three weeks.”
She frowned. “Yes…” Her head tilted just slightly as she tried to digest his meaning. “It’s going to be three weeks of cleaning?”
“Are you asking or telling?”
“Telling.” She winced at her airy tone. “Is that what you wanted to discuss? The amount of time I’ll be here?”
His eyes stayed glued to her face and then, as if she’d scared him, he took a large step backward and shook his head. “You know what? I’m tired, too. We’ll talk in the morning. Just try to stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours.”
“Don’t worry.” She held her head high. “I’m very good at being invisible.”
He opened his mouth, then shut it.
Nothing.
Her prince didn’t offer up any excuse for why he was being mean and she supposed he didn’t have to.
He was Brock Wellington, one of the most sought-after bachelors in the country.
And she was a maid.