Turn My World Upside Down: Jo's Story Read Free

her.
    But she was in construction. She knew damn well how much damage electricity could cause, so she wasn’t about to go sticking her fingers—
or anything else
—in Cash Hunter’s socket.
    “So am I really that scary to you, Josefina?”
    She winced. “I’ve told you like a million times I hate that name.”
    “Yeah, but I told you a million times I really do,” he teased, that smile deepening. “So, how about it? You going to admit that I scare the crap out of you?”
    “You really think you can
dare
me into your bed?” she asked and lifted the hammer. Not that she’d actually hit him with it or anything. Well . . . not unless he pushed her into it.
    A damn dimple appeared in his left cheek. “Hey,
you’re
the one talking about
beds
. I said dinner.”
    A shriek sounded in her head and it was only through sheer determination and stubbornness that she was able to keep it from exploding out her mouth. “I don’t have time for you,” she snapped instead.
    “One of these days, Josefina,” he said, leaning forward until they were practically nose to nose. “You’re going to have to
make
time.”
    Her teeth ground together as he pushed himself to his feet with a lazy motion. Then brushing his hands together, he hitched his tool belt a little higher on narrow hips. “Guess I’ll go and finish packing up. Finished the trim already.”
    “Thanks for the news flash,” she muttered. God, that she had come to this. Actually
hiring
Cash Hunter. But with her sisters Mike and Sam both too pregnant to be any help whatsoever, she’d had to hire on extra hands. Even if they were attached to the one man in the world who pushed all her buttons the wrong way.
    “I really think you’re starting to like me, Josefina,” he said, his boot heels thumping on the hardwood floor as he headed for the kitchen door.
    “And I think you’re delusional,” she said. “Wonder which one of us is right.”
    His laughter floated back to her as he stepped out of the room and it took Jo an extra minute or two to convince herself that she was
not
affected by that low, rich sound.
    She wasn’t.
    She was almost sure of it.
    Michaela “Mike” Marconi Gallagher pushed herself into a sitting position, then scooted her heavily pregnantbulk to the edge of the sofa. Bracing her hands on the highly polished coffee table, she gave a mighty heave and . . .
nothing
.
    She glared at her belly and muttered, “You know, before you guys settled in down there, I could actually get up off a couch anytime I wanted to.”
    “What’re you doing?”
    “Apparently,” she snapped, lifting her gaze to her husband, “not a damn thing.”
    Lucas Gallagher scowled at her, set down the tray of cookies he was carrying on the table and then loomed over his wife. “The doctor said bed rest. I compromised with the damn couch. But you
said
you wouldn’t get up.”
    Mike tried smiling at him, but her husband was no pushover these days. He watched her like a mother hen chasing its last chick. And while she appreciated the loving concern, the lack of mobility was making her
nuts
. Which, for her, translated into crabby.
    “Damn it, Lucas,” she blurted, when his features remained stony, “I can’t just
sit
here.”
    “You’re right,” he said, stepping around the table. Lifting her legs, he swung them back up onto the couch, then dropped a colorful crocheted afghan over her. “You’re going to just
lie
there.”
    “Like a beached whale,” she muttered, looking down at her huge belly.
    He dropped one long-fingered hand onto the mound of their children and gave her skin a slow stroke. “The mother of my kids is
not
a whale.” He paused, said, “A hippo, maybe.”
    Her eyes narrowed.
    “Kidding, kidding,” he said, laughing.
    “You’re either very brave or very dumb, Rocket Man,” Mike muttered, willing herself not to chuckle as she covered his hand with hers. “Teasing a cranky woman with access to power tools is perhaps not your best