Holiday Hire (The Cartwright Family #2)

Chapter 25

25

Alexander

A Week Before Christmas

" L ater!" Wilder shouts as the boys run out the door. My sisters volunteered to take them to town for a Christmas scavenger hunt, and they'll be gone most of the day.

I turn to Phoebe and stare at her.

She puts her hand on her hip. "Yes?"

"Why haven't we painted your room yet?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. We've been busy."

"Everyone else in the house has their room painted, but yours is still blah. You even painted the family room and kitchen," I point out.

Her lips twitch. "So you thought it was blah too?"

I admit, "Once you pointed it out."

She adds, "You really like it though, right? You're not just telling me you like it?"

I chuckle. "Yes. I wouldn't lie about liking something. And you were right. This place definitely needed some color."

She beams. "Good!"

"Don't you think it's time we paint your room though?"

"Today?" she questions.

"Yeah, today. There's no time like the present. Plus, the boys are gone. We can paint naked if we want."

She laughs. "You want to paint naked?"

I wiggle my eyebrows, confessing, "I like to do everything naked with you."

She wrinkles her nose. "We might want to keep our clothes on since your family's always coming in and out."

"I could lock the doors."

"Did you forget they have keys? If you tried that, they'd be coming in faster than we know."

I sigh. "Okay, we'll paint with clothes on. But seriously, we've got to get your room done. What color did you pick anyway?"

She reveals, "It's a pale yellow."

"And it's here? You bought it when you were in town, right?"

She nods. "Yes. It's in the pantry."

"Okay, go get your paint clothes on. We're going to get your room done today," I declare.

Her face lights up. She claps. "Yay!"

I groan, kicking myself for not insisting we paint her room sooner. She made it clear she wanted some color. I shouldn't have allowed her to do every room except hers, but I was too engrossed in getting the horses ready for the next race. "Phoebe, we should have done your room first."

She insists, "No, you needed your room done."

I step forward and put my hand on her cheek and wrap my other arm around her waist. I palm her ass and tug her into me. "I love what you did to my room. It was very sweet of you, but you have to stop putting yourself last."

"I don't."

I set my finger over her lips. "Shush. You do put yourself last. You're always putting us first."

She shrugs. "It's my job to put you first."

I shake my head. "No. That's not right, Pheebs."

"I'm not complaining. I like taking care of all of you."

My heart warms. I admit, "I love having you taking care of us."

Her lips curve up. "You do?"

"Mm-hmm. I love it when you take care of my boys. I love it when you take care of me." I kiss her jawbone, then over to her ear, and add, "I especially love it when you take care of my stallion."

She laughs and pushes my chest. "Keep your head straight if we're going to paint my room."

"Okay, let me go toss on some clothes I can destroy. Contrary to what you might believe, I'm a sloppy painter."

She feigns shock, gasping. "Are you?"

"Yup. You'll have to cut in the edges, or we'll have to get some tape."

"Nope, no tape needed. I'm good at cutting in," she declares.

"Why am I not surprised?" I question, grinning. I slap her on her ass. "Okay, get ready. I'll see you in your room."

"Okay."

I whistle and go into the bedroom, excited we get some alone time, even if it involves painting. I love every minute I spend with Phoebe, but we're usually surrounded by people and acting like there's nothing between us. And since it's a week before Christmas, it'll be busier than ever with festivities. My family will be everywhere, so this is the last day Phoebe and I might get a stretch of alone time.

As tempted as I am to drag her to bed and play all day, it's bugging me her room's not painted. And I love everything she's done with the rest of the house. The boys' rooms are just what they wanted, and they're always raving about them. She patiently waited to do hers last, and I scold myself again that I wasn't more insistent she paint hers after she surprised me.

I put on a pair of shorts and an old T-shirt that I no longer care about. Then I go into her bedroom.

She's tugging her T-shirt over her chest when I enter.

I tease, "Do you have to put that on?"

She bats her eyelashes. In a horrible Texas drawl, she chirps, "Why, Alexander Cartwright, how very inappropriate of you."

"That was a pretty good accent," I fib.

"You think? Can I convince people I'm from Texas?" she questions.

I don't have the heart to tell her no, so I encourage her. "If you keep working on it, you'll fool everyone."

She beams. "Really? I always thought my accents were bad."

"I don't know. I'm biased," I say, then glance over at the heap of tarps. I ask, "Should we move everything to the center of the room and cover the floor?"

"Wow! My man's smart too!" She bats her lashes.

"Every now and then," I claim.

We spend an hour moving the bed, dressers, and desk. We put tarps on the floor and then I declare, "Time for the paint."

"It's still in the pantry."

"Okay, I'll go get it." I go into the kitchen and find the paint. Then, I pull a screwdriver from the junk drawer and return to her room.

Her expression lights up every one of my cells. She chirps, "I'm so excited."

I chuckle. "I can see that, which is why you should have been first."

She shakes her head. "Nope! That's not the way the cookie crumbles."

"Hmm. Well, maybe I'll have to give you an extra gift since you were so patient."

She grins. "Is this another bet?"

I give her a lewd glance from head to toe, then lock eyes with her. "Quite possibly."

Her face flushes, but her smile widens, and my heart almost leaps out of my chest.

My new daily goal is to make Phoebe happy. I literally wake up and think about what I can do that day to make her smile more. And every time she does, I feel giddy.

"Oh, I have to go get the paintbrushes. Hold on." She disappears and returns with a handful of supplies and a stir stick.

I open the can and stir the pale yellow until it looks consistent. Then I pour some into a tray.

She hands me a roller. "You roll, I'll cut in."

"Deal, but we're going to need a ladder."

"Oh, duh," she says.

I chuckle again. "I'll go get it." I leave and go to the garage. I grab a stepladder and bring it into the bedroom.

She's already painting the bottom of the wall. I study her for a minute, impressed, muttering, "That's crazy."

She stops and turns her head. "What is?"

I point at the wall, stating, "I don't understand how you can do that without tape. That's a perfectly straight line. You don't have any on the trim."

"Yep, I know," she perkily singsongs.

"Crazy," I repeat, then grab the roller. I coat it with yellow paint and then apply it on the wall. After half the wall is painted, I step back, asking, "Do you like the color now that it's actually in your room?"

"I love it. It's super cheerful."

I agree. "It is. Just like you."

She bats her lashes. "Why, Alexander Cartwright, I feel like you're trying to make me blush."

"Oh, no. I'd make you do that naked if I wanted you to blush," I tease, continuing to roll the wall. By the time I finish all four, she's completed the bottom part. I put the roller down and pat the step of the ladder, grinning. "Time to get your booty up."

"Yes, dear," she coos, strutting over to me, her hips swaying.

I groan, warning, "Don't do that, or you won't finish the top."

She smirks. "Why is that?"

I reach around her waist and tug her into me. She sharply inhales. I lower my face to hers. "Because I'm going to do things to that booty of yours."

She giggles. "Don't tease me."

My erection hardens as I palm her ass.

She pushes me away and wiggles her finger between us. "Uh-uh-uh. We have to get the top done."

"Yes, ma'am," I state, redirecting her to the ladder.

She climbs up it, and I kiss her ass as she's cutting in.

She freezes, then pulls her arm down, scolding, "Don't do that. I'm going to hit the ceiling."

I gasp. "What? You're talented. Surely, you can handle it."

"Seriously, Alexander. I'm going to hit the ceiling, then we'll have to paint it. You have to behave!"

I groan. "Okay, I'll contain myself."

"Thank you!" She refocuses on the line near the ceiling, slowly moving the brush.

I stare again in awe. "I could never do that."

"Yeah, but you can do many other things I can't."

"Like what?"

"Manly things," she states.

I chuckle. "Manly things? You're going to have to be more specific."

She snickers. "Well, I've seen you smack your brothers around pretty good."

I grunt. "Yeah, they deserve it when I do that."

"I always wonder what they're saying whenever I glance across the yard and see you do that."

"Oh, so you stare at me all day?"

"No, I didn't say that," she proclaims.

I chuckle.

She adds, "You also do that thing with the rope."

"What thing with the rope?"

"You know. You whip it in the air in circles before you toss it."

I laugh so hard tears fall from my eyes.

She stares down at me from the top of the ladder. "Why are you laughing? What's so funny?"

I use the back of my wrist to wipe a tear off my cheek. "I've never heard anyone describe lassoing like that. It's cute."

"I can think of other cute things to do to you if you want," she teases.

My cock hardens again. "Really? Like what?"

She glances down with a smirk, revealing, "Like that thing I do to your stallion with my tongue."

My dick throbs. I groan, asserting, "You're not allowed to talk about that unless you're going to do it."

She gives me an innocent look and says, "Oh? Who said I wasn't going to do it later?"

I scream "yes!" inside my head. I love it when Phoebe gives me blow jobs. Everything about it is super intense. She always knows exactly how to lick and suck and tease me until I'm begging her and holding her head down over me.

I don't think I've ever been with a woman who makes me feel how she does when she sucks my dick. It only took her one time to learn how to take all of me in, which is another thing women normally struggle with, so I inform her, "You get extra stars for that trick."

"Okay, back to work! Get your head out of the gutter," she orders.

"Then you do your job," I retort, pointing to the ceiling.

"Yes, sir." She wiggles her ass in front of me, and I smack it. She yelps, then states, "I'm returning to the painting now. No funny business."

"I'll behave," I say, and watch her create another perfect line between the wall and the ceiling.

It takes us a half hour to make our way around the room. Then we go to the kitchen and eat a sandwich for lunch. We go back into the room and paint another coat. When we finish, we stand back, staring at the walls.

I take another glance around the room. "This looks great."

"Agreed," she chirps.

I snap my fingers. "Hold on, I have something for you."

"What do you mean?"

"I have something for you. Just wait," I insist and then go into my bedroom. I step into the closet and pull out a metal piece of art I found in town. It's an infinity sign with hearts threaded through it. I take it into the bedroom and hand it to her. "This is for you."

Her eyes widen. She holds it out in front of her. "How did you find this?"

"Ace told me it's something you love. I saw it in town, so I got it for you," I tell her, even though I searched online for days looking for it. I don't know why I don't want to tell her that, but I stick to my little fib.

"Alexander, this is... Wow," she says, staring at it again.

"So you like it?"

She scoffs. "Like it? Are you kidding me? This is my favorite metalsmith. I saw this piece online, and Ace asked me about it. But..." She stares at me.

"What?" I question.

"This was in town?"

I nod, lying again. "Yeah."

She peers at me closer. "Where?"

I chuckle. "None of your business. Do you like it?"

"No, I love it! But this is too much!" she declares.

I wave my hand in front of her. "No, it's not. Now, where should we put it?"

She glances at it again, then sets it on the bed. She tosses her arms around me, kisses me, then says, "I love it. Thank you."

I pull her closer, and we kiss for a long time until I murmur, "I'm going to have to get you more gifts."

She retreats from the kiss. "You don't have to buy me any gifts. You know that, right?"

"Of course. And I know you don't expect anything. But I like buying you stuff. Especially things you actually want."

She stares at me and bites her lip.

"Don't get all weird on me about me getting you a gift. You should change your viewpoint on money anyway," I add.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you come from a scarcity mentality. You should come from a thriving mentality."

She scoffs. "It's not easy to come from an abundance mentality when you don't have much."

"I don't know. I bet we can change your mindset," I declare.

She laughs and gives me a little salute. "Aye, aye, sir."

"I'm glad you like it though."

"I do," she affirms.

"Good." I kiss her again, and within minutes, I'm tugging her shirt off and unhooking her bra.

Her phone blares with a new song she added to her ringer last week. She retreats from me a step.

"Do you have to get that?" I question, pulling her back to me.

"No." She kisses me again, and the song dies, but then it rings again. She pulls away and scrunches her forehead. "Maybe I should get that."

"Okay. Maybe you should."

She goes over to her desk, picks up her phone, then turns it off, groaning.

"Who is it?" I question.

"No one. Let's go back to what we were doing." She takes two steps toward me, and her phone rings again. Her face falls and then irritation blooms in her expression. She grabs her phone again and silences it.

I press, "Baby girl, who is it?"

She rolls her eyes. "It's Lance."

My gut drops and then anger fills it. "Lance? Why is he calling you?"

She shakes her head in annoyance. "To bug me, why else?"

My jealousy flares. "I didn't know you were still in contact with him."

"I'm not."

"Then why is he calling you?"

Her head jerks back. She holds her hands in the air. "I don't know. He likes to call and try to get me back. I don't take his calls though."

The jealousy explodes inside me. "You made a big stink about Cheyenne, who I've done nothing with since you got here, and you've still been in contact with Lance?"

"I didn't say I've been in contact with him."

"Then how do you know he's trying to get you back?"

She admits, "Because he texts me and calls me all the time, leaving me messages in my voicemail."

My heart pounds harder. "Why haven't you blocked him if he's harassing you?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. I ignore it."

"Why are you keeping him in your life?"

"I'm not keeping him in my life."

"Sounds to me like you are," I hurl out as the phone blares again.

She glances at it and then at me, pushes a button, and it stops. She proclaims, "I'm not keeping him in my life. I told you?—"

The phone rings again.

I order, "Answer it."

"No, I'm not answering it."

"Why not?"

She pushes the button again and turns her phone off. She tosses it on the bed. "There. He's not going to bother us anymore."

"Why aren't you answering it, Phoebe?"

"I don't want to talk to him. There's nothing for me to say."

My hatred for him overpowers my better judgment. I blurt out, "But you haven't blocked him. Do you like the attention? Is that it?"

Hurt fills her expression. "What? Why would you say that?"

"You're still engaging with him. You're keeping the door open between you," I accuse, afraid he'll come back into her life and take her away from me.

She cries out, "I am not! I don't want anything to do with him."

"Are you sure about that?" I boom, my jealousy flaring. I hated that guy from the moment I heard about him. I couldn't stand him even more when I met him. But to know he's still contacting her? Why hasn't she blocked him?

She firmly asserts, "Alexander, nothing is going on between Lance and me."

"Really?"

My phone rings. She glances at her desk and reaches for it, snipping, "Maybe it's Cheyenne." She hands it to me with a glare.

"Don't you dare," I warn and then answer the phone. "Hello?"

Mason's voice comes through the line. "Bro, Phoebe's boyfriend's in town. He's drunk off his ass. I think you better get down here."

The blood drains from my face to my toes. The hairs on my neck rise.

She demands, "Alexander, what's wrong?"

Mason questions, "Alexander, did you hear me?"

I snarl, "Yeah. Stay right there. I'm on my way."