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would just liberate my keys, I can take care of it myself.”
    Walsh was shaking his head. “You’re not cleared to drive or do eight-hour stints, boyo.”
    Payne shoved his hand through his hair, barely noticing that Honey had stood up, crossed to his front door, and was now opening it. “Yeah, but—”
    “That’s where your personal assistant comes in,” Walsh said.
    And then she did. Rose Dailey, sweeping across the threshold. “I’m back,” she said.
    For the second time in two days, Payne stared at her, shocked by her sudden presence. No, this time he was shocked by what she was wearing too.
    I’ve always wanted a French maid.
    That’s what she was costumed as, from the toes of her black, ankle-strapped pumps to the froth of white frill pinned to the top of her dark head. In the middle was a short, black…something, with a waist cinched by a white apron. Her breasts plumped over the top of the neckline. Sheer white stockings ended at her thighs and were embellished by blush pink satin bows.
    Walsh wolf-whistled.
    Payne felt his face heat. “Talk about objectifying,” he said, shooting a look at the other man.
    But before he could really get going, Rose made a little curtsey. “Where would you like me to begin, sir?”
    “I can’t…I won’t…” He couldn’t seem to form a clear thought as she sashayed closer. Walsh tilted his head as she passed him, his gaze fixed on Rose’s pert ass.
    Payne glared at the man, then refocused on the French maid. “You, uh…” His hand waved in a vague gesture.
    Nothing he said or did communicated “Get out” or “Go away” like he intended Shit.
    Her mouth turned up in a cheeky grin. “I’ll just start in the bedroom, shall I?” Without waiting for a reply, she exited in the direction of the hallway.
    Walsh smiled at him. “She’ll just start in the bedroom.”
    “Shut up,” Payne muttered. His thoughts were jumbled in his head, twisted and tangled by lust and a distinct feeling of helplessness. She’d always fucked him up, even when she was trailing after him and her sister, wanting to know what they were doing and where they were going. He’d found her amusing in a pesky way, a bit like his little sister, Cami. Then, one night she’d found her way into a Velvet Lemons party and he’d been drinking and she’d looked nothing like someone’s younger sibling…
    Muttering a curse, he slid forward on his chair. “You gotta help me out, Walsh.”
    “I already did,” the other man answered. “I took a look at those records and realized you’ve need to spend some time at that yard.”
    “But—”
    “And Ren arranged for someone to help you at home and help you get to work and make sure you don’t overdo—all the while looking smokin’ fine in a hot little number.”
    Groaning again, Payne put his head in his hands.
    “How would you like me to launder these, sir?”
    At Rose’s voice, his head popped up again. In her hands was a set of see-through lingerie, a panty and bra set in bold tangerine. The brat held them against her body, just to torture him by allowing him to imagine her dressed in the little-nothings.
    “I don’t know where they came from,” he choked out.
    “Or who they came off of,” Walsh added, sotto voce.
    Payne closed his eyes, trying again to sort through his thoughts. On the one hand, Rose was a willing and able person who could help him with his household tasks, and, more importantly, act as chauffeur to get him back and forth to work. On the other hand… Rose .
    “I guess I’ll put them through the hand wash cycle,” she said now.
    And for the love of God, hand wash sounded like hand job , and he could see her small fingers wrapped around his cock, slick with suds, as she jerked him toward heaven. His shaft, half-hard from the moment she’d entered his house in that silly—sexy as hell—outfit went full and ready. Raging.
    “What am I going to do?” he implored Walsh.
    “Take the path of least