by Laura Pavlov
Lord, give her strength, because this was going to be a long couple of weeks. But if anyone had the discipline required, it was her. She prided herself on having control over all aspects of her life. Maverick Wallace was the exception. He caught her starry-eyed the first time they met, but she learned from her mistake, and kept him at a distance ever since.
The smell of sandalwood and mint flooded her senses as he moved beside her, leaving her no choice but to use the strategy she came up with over a year ago whenever forced to be in Maverick’s presence. She called it resistance-therapy.
She concentrated on her childhood dog, the adorable Prince Albert. Mind over matter, right? The quick memory caused a dull ache in her chest, sad and weepy, all signs of lust diminished. It’d been tragic losing the beautiful basset hound due to kidney failure, as she spent the first twelve years of her life with him, and being an only child meant Albert was more than just a dog. He’d been her best friend and loyal companion. Somehow, revisiting the grief proved the quickest way to stomp out her ridiculous attraction to the man who played the lead in every sexual fantasy she ever had. Elle didn’t have sexual fantasies, hell, she wasn’t even a sexual person. At least not before meeting the manwhore.
“Are you all right? You look upset?” He touched her shoulder, snapping her from her daze.
“I’m fine. Just trying to figure out what we need to do.” Elle backed away, pushing all thoughts of Prince Albert and his kidneys from her thoughts. Moving into the next room, she came up with a game plan. Her gut told her not to cut corners, not to rush it, and she’d most likely adapt to the sexual tension brewing whenever her annoyingly attractive client was around. She’d do what she had to.
God rest poor Albert’s soul. She’d drudge up visions of the white and tan little guy with his stumpy legs, as often as needed if it helped to remain professional.
“Look, Peaches, I trust you, so whatever you say goes.”
Why was he so nice? And since when was he so confident in her professional abilities?
She sucked in a long breath. “Well, I’m struggling with a few things.”
“Let me hear it.”
“They set this floorplan up backward, as these are the rooms you spend the most time in. The kitchen and the family room are in the wrong place,” she said, moving into the next room as he followed. “If we transition both rooms to the opposite side of the house, and take out this massive wall at the entrance, you’ll have a view of the water from all the main living spaces in the home. We could open this entire area and make it one large great room and separate the spaces with furniture instead of walls which will allow for views of the breathtaking lake. I mean, why have a lake house if you aren’t going to utilize the water views?”
“Agreed. I like it. I have a contractor ready to go. What’s the problem?”
Maverick was a straight shooter. She’d use the same strategy.
“Well, if we take on this much construction it means a much longer time commitment than I planned.”
“Ah, got it. Listen, Peaches, if you don’t want the job, I understand. But I want it done right, and I can hire someone local if it doesn’t work for you. I chose you because I know you’re talented, I checked out your projects on the Shine website, and you’re obviously a perfectionist, which is what I want for my home.” He crossed his arms and studied her. Waited for a response. She didn’t realize he’d requested to work with her, specifically. She assumed Camille had forced her to do it because everyone else was busy. For some reason, she found it flattering.
“Thank you. No, I’ll make the time frame work. I need to let Camille know it’s a larger project than we anticipated. I’ll go home on the weekends. It should be done right, and I’m confident my vision for the place will exceed your expectations. When do you need to be back for practice?”
“Eight weeks. I work with a trainer here in Tahoe until official practice starts. Are you sure you’re up for the job?”
“Yes. I’m in.”
“Good. Let’s go eat. I’ll take you to my favorite place, and we can lay out a plan and call the contractor.” He led her out of the house.
****
“Hey, Mav. Good to see you buddy.” An older man greeted them at Pete’s Pub, a local place right up the street.
“What’s up, Pete. Just got back in town this morning. This is Elle, she’s designing the house I bought on the lake.”
“Pleasure to meet you, young lady. Beautiful property to work on, huh?”
“Nice to meet you, as well. Yes, I’m looking forward to getting started,” she said, as Pete led them through the waterfront brewery.
Peanut shells littered the dark floors. The simple rustic wood tables and chairs added to the comfortable appeal. Light flooded in from the large windows covering the back wall facing the lake, and the turquoise water showcased like a piece of art. French doors tied back with white twine held the entrance to the patio open and allowed the cool breeze to flow inside. She stepped out onto the patio, and the smell of pine and vanilla filled the air around her. Her chest tightened. Being surrounded by nature reminded her of home. Of a life she left behind to chase a career and a new beginning in a large city where she didn’t know anyone but her father. It was a dark time when she first left Savannah, and she’d worked hard to rebuild her life and follow her own dreams. She hadn’t realized how much she missed the beauty she left behind, until being enveloped by something equally magnificent.
“All right, you two enjoy. I’ll send someone out to take your order. Glad to have you back for the summer, Mav, and looking forward to seeing you around too, sweetie,” Pete said, a bright smile spread across his weathered face. She thanked the kind man.
“I take it Pete is the owner?” she said, once the older man stepped back inside. He had the same name as the restaurant, so it wasn’t rocket science.
“Yeah, he’s owned the place since I was a kid. My first job was bussing tables here.”
“Wow. I think it’s cool he still owns it. I can see why you want to build a home on the lake here. This view is—breathtaking.”
“I wouldn’t have guessed you a nature lover, Peaches.” He set his menu aside.
“Have you never been to Savannah? It’s nature at its finest.”
“I assumed you were from the city.”
“You know what happens when you assume, right?” She scanned the menu before placing it on the table.
“So you’re a country girl. Interesting.”
“Why is it interesting?”
“I guess I thought I had you all figured out.”
A large man stepped onto the patio carrying a notepad and a resting-bitch-face frown. Disheveled sandy brown hair, but not the I-just-rolled-out-of-bed sexy kind—the greasy, overgrown kind. He moved at a snail’s pace, as if his will to live had been sucked from him moments before. He looked to be a few years older than her—far too young to be carrying a chip on his shoulder one could spot from a mile away. He wore the same gray T-shirt as Pete, but the cotton fabric pulled against his wide midsection, and sported a large red stain on the chest.
Maverick looked up with a forced smile. “How you doing, Roth?”
“Well, I didn’t lose the Super Bowl, so I guess I’m doing a hell of a lot better than you, Maverick.” His tone matched his appearance.
“I imagine you’re right, buddy. Glad to see you doing well.”
Seriously? She looked between the two men, assessing what the hell was going on. Roth-the-sloth was slinging major attitude at Maverick, yet he handled him with kid gloves. She’d seen him interact with Jackson on a few occasions, and the guy was witty as all get-out. Her mind scattered for ideas, the only conclusion—Maverick must have slept with Roth’s girlfriend? You know what they say—once a manwhore—what other explanation could there be?
“Is your team going to keep you around after your poor showing last season?” Roth said, launching yet another zinger.
Poor showing? He’d made it to the frea
king Super Bowl. She didn’t follow football, but she knew it was a big deal the Miners made it that far. Her friends had seen him play that day and said Maverick had played the game of his life. What was this guy talking about?
Maybe Maverick slept with the sloth’s fiancée? Or wife? Or sister? Her brain continued to fire off possibilities as she waited for him to respond.
“You know, Roth, I think they are going to keep me around. I’ll give it my best shot this next season, and hopefully I’ll do better.”
Do better? What? The only way to do better was to actually win the Super Bowl, right?
“Well, I’d start training soon. Looks like you’ve really let yourself go.”
She gasped, glaring at Roth.
No.
He
Didn’t.
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Maverick Wallace was a lot of things, but an out-of-shape, half-ass football player was not one of them.
Roth turned to her. “And you are?”
She looked up to see Maverick’s grin spread clear across his face. Why was he so amused?
“I’m Elle Fiore.”
“Hmmm—haven’t seen you around here before. You one of his groupies?” he said, and Maverick covered his mouth with his hand.
Elle lifted her chin and pressed a hand to her chest. “I assure you, I am nobody’s groupie; however, I, too made the same assumption earlier with some ladies, so I can’t very well hold it against you. But for the record, my boyfriend is related to the royal family. His name is Count Edward Efant.”
Lies, lies, lies.
But she wasn’t going to let him call her a groupie, and then admit to being single. She had a serious boyfriend forty-eight hours ago, so it wasn’t a complete fabrication. Maverick’s head fell back in amusement, and Roth stared at her blankly.
“Okay, cool. Well, I’m busy, so do you two know what you want?”
How did this guy work for Pete? He was quite possibly the worst food server she’d ever met. They quickly placed their orders, and Maverick didn’t hide his surprise when she ordered a beer to go with her salad. But she didn’t care to discuss her order once the sloth walked away. She wanted to know what he’d done to make the guy hate him so much.
“I’d never have guessed you a beer drinker,” he said, when Roth disappeared into the bar area.
She waved her hand at him, “Yadda, yadda, who cares? Seriously? Yes. My dad’s a fireman, and he loves beer. I guess it’s genetic because I like it too. But it’s sooooo beside the point right now. What the hell was that?”
“What? Roth?” His head cocked to the side and those chocolate brown eyes danced with mischief.
“Ummm, yeah? The guy hates you. He despises you. You slept with his girlfriend, didn’t you?”
Maverick reached in the metal bucket sitting in the middle of the table, grabbed a handful of peanuts, cracked one open, and dropped the shells on the floor before speaking.
“You know, Peaches, you really have a poor image of me. I think it’s good we’re going to work together because I’m not nearly as bad as you think I am.”
“Really. Well, we can discuss the reason I have a poor image of you another time. Right now, I want to know what you did to the sloth?”
His laugh bellowed around the patio, and he ran a hand through his wavy dark hair. He paused when Roth returned and set down the two beers in front of them. He didn’t say a word to Maverick, but he smiled at her. “Here you go, Elle. You have great taste in beer. Stella is my favorite too.”
Wowsers. The sloth smiled.
“I also ordered a Stella, Roth,” Maverick said, with slight irritation.
Roth ignored him and walked away.
“Well, that was brutal,” he said before taking a long pull from his beer.
“Are you playing with a full stack, Wallace?” She took a small sip of her Stella. This was business, and she rarely drank alcohol with clients, but this gig would not be fast, so she’d bend the rules a bit. But alcohol and tingly lady parts never mixed well. She already experienced that disaster once and found herself lip-locked with the manwhore by the end of the night.
“Yes, I’m playing with a full stack. Why do you ask?” He rolled his eyes.
“The guy attacks your football skills. Which, excuse me if I’m wrong, because I certainly don’t know anything about the sport, but from what Peyton and Jackson say, you’re quite good. Yet you aren’t offended when the man berates your ability and your profession? But he doesn’t acknowledge your fine taste in beer—and that puts you off? Not playing with a full stack, just sayin’.” She smiled knowingly.
“You seriously don’t follow football? Did you know I played when we met at the wedding?”
She cringed at the mention of make-out gate. “Ugh. Definitely not. I was filled in the next day. And no, I don’t follow it at all. But again, this is what you ask after what I just shared?”
He chuckled. “You are full of surprises, Peaches. All right, you want to know why Roth the sloth hates me?”
“Yes, please.” She rubbed her hands together with anticipation.
“When he was a senior in high school, I was a freshman. He was the starting quarterback for three years, and they benched him his senior year and let me start,” he said, leaning back in his chair. He took a pull from his beer, and she forced herself to stop staring at his mouth.
“And all these years later he’s still angry about something that happened in high school? Are you serious? Why are you so nice to him?”
“His mom was my third-grade teacher. Best teacher I ever had. She passed away a few years back, after a lengthy battle with breast cancer. I feel bad for the guy. She was a special lady.”
She watched as his gaze grew glossy, and he cleared his throat.
Well, hells bells.
The manwhore had a freaking heart.
“Looks like I’m not the only one who’s full of surprises.” She reached for a handful of peanuts.
“Moving on to a new subject, is your boyfriend’s last name really Efant?” he said it slowly, pronouncing every syllable.
“Yes. Why?”
“Good luck if you marry the guy,” he said, with a laugh. A cocky smirk spread across his face.
“What are you talking about?” She crossed her arms in front of her chest, prepared for an insult she could feel coming.
“Because you’ll be the Countess Elle Efant. Say it fast three times, Peaches, Countess Elephant.”
He hit the table with his hand and the corners of his lips turned up. She rolled her eyes. Of course, she realized the name issue the moment they started dating, but no one else ever mentioned it. Including Edward. Well, it wasn’t an issue now. But she didn’t feel like informing Maverick at the moment. Dating the Count sounded a hell of a lot more impressive than it turned out to be.
“You’re sure putting a lot of thought into my married name. Why don’t you focus on the fact that you just had a woman trick you into sleeping with her.”
“Too bad I can’t trick you, Peaches. I’m pretty sure I’d rock your world.”
“What a romantic offer. Roth the sloth has a better chance of sleeping with me than you do, Wallace.” She graced him with a fake smile, and he shook his head and chuckled.
Truth is—not everybody wanted their world rocked.
Chapter Four
Maverick’s Playbook
Never underestimate your opponent!
He met his trainer at five a.m. the next morning for a grueling workout and parked his car beside the white shimmery Audi in his driveway. He’d asked Elle what the story was with the color of her car, and of course the question pissed her off.
Shocker.
As if he knew what the hell pearl-white was. He swore the girl made up these crazy ass colors. Glancing at the small guest cottage to the right of his house, he wondered if the princess had risen yet.
“Daisy.” He walked into the kitchen. His goofy mutt liked to wait by the door for him, but
today she was MIA. He grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator, and his gaze moved to the window. He choked on his water at the sight in the backyard.
Stepping through the back door onto the patio, he watched for a minute before making his presence known. The view so surprising, he needed to take it in. His debutante of a designer stood over Daisy—correction, straddled Daisy. Yep, one leg on each side of his ginger-colored doodle, who sat more still than ever before. Elle massaged suds into Daisy’s body, the hose lay on the ground surrounded by the small puddle forming in the grass beside her.
Daisy didn’t put up a fight, but who could blame her? Hell, he’d sit still if it meant Elle Fiore would straddle him and rub suds all over his body. He took her in, moving closer. Her cut-off jean shorts were sexy as shit, and her long sleeve light blue T-shirt was soaking wet. The cotton fabric clung to her skin, outlining her perky tits to perfection. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and her feet were bare.
Who was this laid-back, animal-caretaking chick? He glanced around in search of the giant stick she normally had shoved up her tight little ass, but there was no sign of it. A hard stream of water doused him in the face. He used his hands as a shield, and she set the hose back down on the ground.
“What the hell was that for?” He wiped his face with his T-shirt.
“It’s what you get for acting like a peeping Tom, you stalker. Did anyone ever tell you it’s not polite to stare?” She used the back of her hand to push a loose strand of golden hair back from her pretty face.
“I wasn’t staring, I was a little surprised to find you out here washing my dog when you pretty much made her enemy number one yesterday.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You remain enemy number one. Daisy here, I quite enjoy.” She scrunched her nose before continuing. “You’re quite friendly with the ladies, Wallace. Do you know many females who want to smell like urine and soy sauce?”
He couldn’t help but laugh, and she rolled her eyes, appearing unamused.
“What are you talking about? Who smells like urine and soy sauce?”
“Miss Daisy here. She scratched at my door this morning, and I let her climb in bed with me. Lo and behold—a horrific smell engulfed me, hence the reason I’m out here cleaning her.”
