Home. That sounded perfect.
22
Macca walked back out onto the shaded porch. He was carrying two bottles of beer. She raised her eyebrows as she saw them. She wasn’t much of a drinker, which was just as well because alcohol didn’t always react well with her body. But every so often she liked a beer or a glass of wine.
“You look surprised,” he said, handing her one bottle.
“You’re usually handing me bottles of water,” she pointed out to him. “So yeah, I’m surprised.”
He sighed and sat beside her. She turned her head to study him, seeing the signs of stress on his face. Not only had his beloved nan died but now he had to deal with his father and the fall-out from Nan’s will.
“I really don’t know why she left me this place,” she told him. The last thing she wanted him to think was that she’d somehow manipulated his nan into leaving her this house. “I’ll give it back to you.”
He half-turned to face him. His eyebrows rose. “You’d do that?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Yep. Have you got that lawyer’s number? I’ll go call him now. I should just have to sign some papers, right? Or I could just tell him I don’t want it. Oh, but then this beautiful house might go to your dad and I don’t want him to have it. I think he’s got some nefarious plan for this place.” She stood, ready to go find Mr. Georgeson’s number and get the ball rolling on reversing this wrong.
“Nefarious plan?”
She swore she heard amusement in his voice. But that couldn’t be right, could it? However, when she turned back to look at him, he was smiling. She scowled. “Are you laughing at me?”
“Yes,” he answered honestly.
“Macca,” she snapped.
“Georgina,” he drawled but with a hint of warning in his tone.
She glared down at him, her hands on her hips, her toe tapping against the porch. “This is not a smiling matter.”
“I disagree. You using the word nefarious in a sentence is very much a reason to smile.”
“Will you please take this seriously! I need to find a way to make this right!” Her voice broke on the last word and he immediately frowned. Then he held out his hand.
She ignored it.
“Gigi, come here.”
She reached out and clasped her hand in his, unable to resist him for long. He drew her over and settled her in his lap, surrounding her in his heat and scent. He pushed the swinging chair so it gently rocked back and forth.
He held his beer to her lips since she hadn’t opened hers yet. She took a drink, letting the yeasty taste settle on her tongue.
“Baby girl, you’re not giving the house back or telling Mr. Georgeson that you don’t want it,” he told her finally.
“I don’t deserve it,” she whispered, finally saying what was plaguing her mind. “I don’t deserve this beautiful house. I’m no one.”
He stilled the chair. “Come again?”
“My own father didn’t want me. My boyfriend didn’t care. Nobody has ever wanted me.”
“I want you. I think someone is angling for a spanking,” he mused.
“What? No! Why would you say that? I don’t want a spanking.”
“You just told me that you’re nothing. That you don’t deserve this house. That’s against the rules, is it not?”
She wiggled against him and he set the beer down on the porch before turning her over his lap.
“Macca! Stop! I don’t want a spanking.”