Billionaire on Her Doorstep Read Online Free PDF

feeling he would never forget any odd detail of meeting Maggie Bryce, no matter how she might wish him to do so.
    CHAPTER THREE
    The next morning Tom parked at the back of Maggie’s house on the dot of ten, the tray of his truck filled with all sorts of weird and wonderful appliances borrowed from Alex’s hardware store.
    In a repeat of the day before. Smiley lifted his head for a scratch behind the ear when Tom met him at the front door, and inside Lady Bryce was to be found staring at her painting.
    Overnight Tom had managed to talk down the potency of the impact she’d made on him, putting it all down to becoming overcome with paint fumes. But seeing her in the flesh again, he had to admit that, despite the insomnia and lack of furniture, and issues the likes of which a determinedly casual guy like he had no intention of getting mixed up in, she truly was an enchanting soul.
    She was dressed down again, this time in a yellow hooded top and dark brown cargoes, her dust-colored hair pulled back into a messy ponytail and held back by a red bandanna, but beneath it all she had the posture of a princess.
    Add to that her dark and delicious scent that bombarded him the second he walked inside her front door, and Tom knew that if she ever let down that prickly guard of hers for longer than ten seconds over a stale cheese and tomato sandwich. Lady Bryce would be some package.
    His gaze slid sideways to the big blue painting. To his eyes it was exactly how he remembered it. No progress had been made.
    He’d never tried to paint a picture since primary school, but he knew enough about creativity to know there was more to a lack of inspiration than the need for a deadline. Having to produce a finished painting of a tree by the end of class hadn’t made him an artist.
    But then again Maggie was different. Different from him, anyway. Didn’t she crave male company besides that of a glum canine? And something else to drink besides coffee? And furniture? Didn’t she crave furniture? Why did she have no furniture?
    The more the questions about Maggie mounted, the more he wanted to know the answers. All the answers. Like how she could still be so dumbfoundingly immune to his smiles and why, despite her reserve, he still cared.
    “Morning, Maggie,” he said a mite louder than necessary.
    “When she spun to face him he was pleased to see that it only took about a second for her to remember exactly who he was.
    “Oh, good morning, Tom.” She had dark smudges of grey beneath her eyes and if she wasn’t in a different outfit he might have guessed that she’d pulled an all-nighter. Though the three coffee mugs lined up behind her water jars told a different story. “How did you go with your supplies?”
    “Great. I’m all ready to make a go of it.”
    “Coffee?” she asked, already moving off her drop cloth and towards the long skinny kitchen.
    “You bet.”
    “Did you get the chance to formalize the quote?”she asked as she tucked her bandanna into the back pocket of her cargo pants, shook out her long ponytail and retied it, scrubbed her hands clean, then put the kettle on to boil.
    They agreed on a time limit - two weeks, and a price - enough to keep Tom in hot dinners for the next month even if the ocean ran dry of fish, and enough that he noticed a rapid widening of Maggie’s soft grey eyes despite the fact that she didn’t hesitate to reach straight for her cheque book from an otherwise bare kitchen drawer.
    Tom held up both hands. “How about we save all that for the last day?”
    Her eyes narrowed, as though trying to figure out how he was planning to screw her over.
    “It’s probably not the best business practice,” he said, “but I’ve found it helps keeps relations friendly. This way I get treated like a helpful guest rather than having to deal with the odd situation of working for a friend.”
    “If you’re sure you’d prefer it that way,” she said, turning away from him, closing the cheque book and