“Seems like your dad leaving had more of an effect on you than you want to admit.”
Silence followed Charles’s observation. “You’re right. I didn’t have the time to dwell on it too much. Had to help Dad take care of Summer and Oscar.”
“And who took care of you?”
Charles’s words came out soft and hesitant like he wasn’t certain if he had a right to ask me that question. A loud bark interrupted the moment, and Lucky trotted toward us. He didn’t head for me this time but wound his way through Charles’s legs.
“I don’t like dogs,” Charles said on a scowl but didn’t step away.
“I think you’re lying. Come on, I’ll show you the room I’m renovating first.”
I brought the bucket of paint up the stairs with Charles following me. We entered my old bedroom, which I’d no longer used since I moved into the master bedroom. I planned to turn it into my personal playroom, but Charles didn’t need to know this. If I told him, he’d probably leave the room in a flash.
“Is this your bedroom?”
Charles walked around the room, eyeing the empty space. All the furniture was in the garage, where they would remain until I had the room exactly how I wanted it. Some of the old pieces wouldn’t fit into this room, but I might use the bed to cut down on the expenses of redecorating.
“Used to be,” I replied.
“Turning it into a guest room?”
“More of a man cave.”
Charles snorted at that. “Ridiculous.”
I laughed at the way he turned up his nose at the notion. I so wanted to back him up against the wall and drop a kiss on that nose, then capture his lips with mine. That would show him ridiculous.
“I’ll get us some old shirts.”
“I don’t need one. I’m not going to help you to paint this room, August.”
“Of course you will.”
I left him scowling at me as I hurried to my bedroom and grabbed two T-shirts from the closet. I handed the newest of the two to Charles, who gave a dramatic sigh and pulled the T-shirt over his head.
“We need a verbal contract that I’m not liable for fucking this up,” he said.
“Don’t worry. I take full responsibility.”
“I’m serious, August. I’ve never painted a damn thing in my life.”
“You’ll learn.”
I left him again to make a quick stop in the garage for all the things I needed. With the two of us, we should be able to finish the task before sundown.
When I returned to the room, Charles had his hands on his hips, assessing the walls as if the scientific equation for getting paint on the surface was written there. He scowled when I grinned at him.
Damn, attraction was one thing, but I’d never expected to have so much fun with him. He looked so right standing here in my dungeon.
An image flashed in my mind of Charles tied up to my bed, spread-eagled as I flogged him.
“August?”
I blinked Charles’s face into focus. “Hmm?”
“Are you just going to stand there, or are we going to paint?”
I couldn’t resist. I chucked his chin. “There goes the enthusiasm I’ve been looking for. Keep it up, and I may give you a treat later.”
The words slipped out, but he didn’t seem to realize what they meant.
“Treat? I’m not a dog. Besides, you’re right. I’m enthusiastic about how much mess I’m going to make of your wall. You’re going to regret this.”
Chapter 9
Charles
“It’s really horrible, isn’t it?” I asked August, stepping back to observe the one wall I’d worked on all afternoon while he’d completed the other three. Despite my assurances that I would fuck up the painting job, I kind of wanted to impress him that I wasn’t just another wealthy businessman who couldn’t even paint a wall.
August made it look so easy. He’d stripped off his shirt at one point, distracting me as he went around the room half-naked. He’d brought a stereo up that played classical music while we painted. I’d been intrigued by his musical selection. I’d never listen to Bach again without thinking of painting walls a bizarre red. And a paint-speckled torso.
“Let me inspect your handiwork, Mr. Moore.” He winked at me and came to stand by my side. I tried not to squirm and had to drop my hand when I went to loosen a nonexistent tie. He’d have to scrub hard to get the paint off his skin.
I sucked in a deep breath at the image of me scrubbing August’s naked