The Coldest Summer✓

Sixteen

I'm flabbergasted by Liam's proposition. He could just pin me by the wall and do whatever he wants . . . but painting. Was I an enemy of the state in my previous life? I just scoff, staring at him stupefied.

"You really want me to paint?" Like a fool I try ascertaining the situation.

"Can you not?" Liam prompts. I'm sure he's challenging me considering the sight of his mocking eyes, so blue yet dark with wit. "Tell me, Ms. Jones, can you not?" His ingenuous smile is pure provocation.

Damn him!

"Of course I can. How hard can it be?" I retort proudly, so sure of myself. My subconscious scowls as it's quite apparent that I know next to nothing about painting.

Well, there is a first time in everything.

Liam smiles brightly, and he looks utterly breathtaking in his blue plaid shirt and black washed out jeans. I think I love his cowboy look—it has its charm.

Hesitantly, Peter hands me the painting brush he's been holding. "Are you sure about this, Ms. Kira?" he asks me kindly . . . almost sorry.

"Don't worry, Peter, I've got this." My gaze refuses to Liam's ocean-like eyes that shine bright like the sky above us.

"You can leave us now. Just do not forget to pick the things I asked you for," Liam tells instructs Peter.

"Yes, sir," Peter replies with a nod. In a few minutes he and Julian disappear, leaving Liam and I alone.

"Are you ready, Ms. Jones?" Liam looks aesthetically pleased having me under his leash.

There's no escape now, is there?

"I was born ready, Mr. Darcy!" I snort with confidence, ready to face his challenge. "Let's do it." I lead the way towards the barn.

"With pleasure," Liam murmurs, and his steps follow suit.

The barn looks bigger on the inside. The only things inside are the haystacks in the middle, just a few, the cans of paint color, and the ladder. The smell of fresh paint wafts my nose as we walk in. Half of the barn is done already, leaving only a small part.

Thank God.

"It's done like this." Liam gives me a very close demonstration after a short while, standing right next to me.

"Like this?" I follow his move, grazing the drenched brush on the surface of a rough wood.

"Wait," he says while stepping behind me. He then holds my hand and leads me carefully.

Oh boy! How do I concentrate like this? His hard chest behind my back, body to body, the feel so alluring for my poor heart. I clear my throat, trying hard to find my focus amid the tempest, and it's surely a tough expedition.

"Now you can do it, right?" Liam asks, and his deep voice is nothing but torture.

"Hmm," I hum gently, and he moves slowly out of my back. A deep sigh finds its way out of my lungs, my composure reclaimed. "Why do you paint the inside?" I start painting on my own, Liam doing the same.

"Just to seal the wood, and avoid the fungi when it gets humid," he answers.

"I see," I breathe.

I'm starting to regret it. I mean, maybe I underestimated this a little; it's certainly not as easy as it seems when someone else does it. Beads of sweat form on my forehead and it's been less than fifteen minutes.

Liam seems very experienced. I'm amazed. And me, well, I can't feel my arms.

Also, I wonder why he is doing this anyway. Evidently it's so easy for someone like him to leave the job to his workers, yet he's been personally fixing and painting the barn with Peter since morning.