Rescuing the Bad Boy (Second Chance #2)(62)

It did.

Bending awkwardly, he dug the fingers of his right hand into a hold several feet below, knowing his weight was unevenly distributed. With more solid footing than before, he risked a quick look down at Sofie’s fear-filled green eyes, and gave her a smile and a wink.

Her expression hinted her fear had receded some, and that’s what he’d been going for.

“Please come down,” she said. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

The promise was almost enough to make him jump. Broken ankle be damned. Adjusting his hold, he stepped down another few feet, peeking over his shoulder as he did. For her benefit, he raised an eyebrow.

“Whatever I want?”

She dropped the prayer pose and crossed her arms over her chest. “Come down here without brain damage, and we’ll talk.”

So f*cking cute.

A minute later, he was on the ground, leaping the two feet and wiping chafed palms on his jeans. No cuts. Nice.

He inclined his head, finding the spot where the rock had given beneath his hand. No wonder she was scared. It was way up there. Stupid to try to climb without gear, given the risk. But Sofie had never seen him climb. And he’d never shied away from risk.

Broken bones healed. Scars could be hidden. Impressing a woman was fleeting. He had to grab the opportunity when he could.

“I believe you said ‘whatever’ I want,” he told her, stepping in front of her.

She shook her head, but her smile was undeniable. He liked how much she wanted him. He wanted her right back.

“Fun as this has been,” she said, taking her eyes off his to look around, “I have a very big, very involved charity dinner to plan. Don’t you have a mansion to get ready?”

Smartass. He opened his mouth to retaliate, when his text chime dinged from his phone. He checked the screen. Connor.

“Was going to take you to lunch,” he told her, still frowning at his phone. He needed to get back after all.

Shit.

“You were?” she asked.

He tried not to be insulted by her surprised tone. “No way to talk you out of work and into coming with me?”

She shook her head, but the only reason her refusal didn’t hurt as much as it could’ve was because she looked like she didn’t want to go back to work. “There’s so much to do.”

“Okay.” He whistled for Dog, and she came obediently to his side. No leash needed.

As they paced back to Trixie, Sofie said, “I’m scheduling something at the mansion with the caterer. Probably for Wednesday. Does that work for you?”

He opened her door for her. Wednesday would work. And would give him time to get something else ready. “You got a key, Scampi.”

She was free to come and go as she pleased. What he wanted was for her to come way more often.

And yeah, he meant that in every way imaginable.





“Holy shit.”

When Connor texted him at the quarry asking how soon he could get to the mansion, Donovan assumed he had a question about the grounds. Then he’d arrived home and Connor met him in the driveway.

“Follow me,” he’d said, eyebrow cocked.

Donovan had followed him through the backyard, around the side of the house, and through an open door leading behind the utility room to the maid’s quarters and beyond.

Then he’d followed him into the recently renovated indoor greenhouse. Connor had done a good job cleaning out the massive space. The cluster of shelving formerly filled with home décor and boxes of collectables had been cleared. They were now lined with pots of all sizes.

Or had been.

Donovan gaped at the mess and repeated, “Holy shit.”

Several pots were busted and lay in a terra cotta heap, their seedlings lying like dead bodies on the ground. One shelf leaned back against the wall, lucky it hadn’t fallen in the other direction and busted out the window.

In the center of the mess stood a doe, probably not full grown, but definitely not a fawn. Her wide, brown eyes were panicked, her nose wet and dripping.

“How the hell did it get in here?” he asked, keeping his voice low. Evidently an earlier panic attack had caused the mess he was looking at now.

“Left the door open while I was carrying in the wood.” Keeping his hand gestures subtle, Connor pointed to the half-built flowerbed dominating the room. The raised bed looked about six by eight feet, not yet nailed together, boards held together by clamps. “When I found her in here, she freaked out.”

Which meant the deer walked in through the outside door, through the hall, and into the greenhouse.

Eyes on Donovan, her tongue came out and licked her face.

“Okay. So we get her out.” Couldn’t be too hard.

“Without her destroying my seedlings.”

That might be harder. He surveyed the shelves again. If she started bucking, she could shatter the window and cut herself to shreds in the process.

“Apples,” Donovan said. “What if we leave a trail of apples and let her find her way out? We can wait outside and watch her leave.”

“That’s it? Leave a trail of apples?”

“You want to go in after her?” Donovan took a half step into the room and the deer backed into a shelf she hadn’t yet overturned. Pots wobbled on its surface.

Connor stayed Donovan with one hand. “Okay, okay. Apples.”