by Laura Pavlov
Pushing back the covers, she hurried to the front door to let Daisy in. “Come on in, girl.” She led her four-legged friend to the bedroom. Daisy jumped up on the soft white down comforter. Elle leaned down and wrapped her arms around the sweet pup. Thankfully, Daisy no longer reeked of urine and soy sauce.
“This coconut shampoo makes all the difference, Miss Daisy.”
A loud bang on the door caused her to jump and nearly fall off the bed.
“Peaches, you in there?” Maverick’s loud voice bellowed from the front porch.
Jesus. Where the hell else would she be this early in the morning? He was awfully needy for a non-committal guy. Always walking over to see what she was doing when they weren’t working at the house, which was basically the hours she slept. Rolling her eyes, she marched to the door, and pulled it open.
“What?”
He waltzed right past her, sporting basketball shorts and nothing else. His chiseled chest glistened with sweat, and his wavy hair dripped as he brushed it away from his handsome face. He crushed a plastic water bottle in his hand making a cringeworthy sound.
“Is this how you greet Daisy when she stops by?” He scanned her body from head to toe. Didn’t even try to hide his slow perusal.
She hated how her body perked up every time he looked at her. She moved to the kitchen a few feet from the front door. The space was suddenly too small and intimate. The man had game. No denying it. He was obviously a natural at wooing the ladies—but she wasn’t buyin’ what he was sellin’.
“No. Daisy doesn’t pound on the door and come over drippin’ sweat. Maybe I need to take you out back and hose you off?”
She grabbed two water bottles out of the refrigerator and handed one to Maverick. His mother dropped off a plate of delicious cookies, which sat on the counter. Elle ate most of her meals next door at Maverick’s house as they usually met before they started their workday and ended with dinner out, or at his place.
“Do you want to hose me off, Peaches?” A slow smile spread across his face. His dark brown gaze was so intense at times, as if it could see into her soul.
She swallowed hard before taking a long drink of water to get her body under control. Her Prince Albert resistance-therapy was an epic fail. She’d never experienced anything close to the physical attraction she had to this man. Never. Of all the people to react to—why did it have to be to the most unattainable man on the planet? She wanted a prince who only had eyes for her, not a playboy with the libido of a teenage boy.
She crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly aware of the flimsy-white pajama top doing nothing to hide the way her body betrayed her in response to his words. She tugged on the matching pink and white pajama shorts, as they barely covered her behind.
“What do you need? It’s early. I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet.” She didn’t hide her irritation, a defense mechanism to keep him at bay.
“Just finished my run and thought I’d stop by and see if you wanted to grab breakfast before we get started today. A friend of mine owns this little diner up the road.”
She tried not to stare at the script running across one side of his chest. Over his heart to be specific. She never noticed it before. God knows the man was shirtless every chance he got. She normally refused to look at him, but right now—it was impossible to look away.
“What does your tattoo say?” she asked before she could stop the words from leaving her mouth.
“See for yourself, Peaches?” He moved closer, and she worried he could hear her heart racing.
Flaunting her best dramatic eyeroll, she looked up, inches from his sweaty, chiseled chest. “But without the dark, we’d never see the stars.”
“Well, when you say it all breathy and sexy, it sounds like a line from a porno.” He smirked and his gaze locked on hers.
“Shut up. I’m hardly breathy, you perv. I just woke up. But I like the sayin’. Not at all what I expected from you.” She moved away from him. Needed to put some distance between them.
His head cocked to one side, “I can’t wait to hear what you thought I’d tattoo on my body.”
“Hells bells—I don’t know.” She flung her arms in the air. “Maybe somethin’ like sex me up, or I’m gonna get me some.” She purposely turned up her Southern twang with a side of sarcasm.
His boisterous laugh vibrated off the walls of the kitchen, and she couldn’t help but join him. He tipped his head back and drank, every ripped line of his abs on display. Damn, his tanned skin glistened in the light pouring in through the kitchen window. My God. She needed space from the man. They worked together. Ate together. Practically lived together as the guesthouse sat only steps from the main house. Thankfully, it was only for a few weeks. She was doing this for baby Jojo after all. That’s what she kept telling herself.
“You’re insane, Peaches. And I’m fucking starving.”
“Fine. Let me get dressed. Give me fifteen minutes.”
“Cute jammies. Can I watch you change out of them?” His hot and hungry gaze made her belly flutter, and he playfully wriggled his eyebrows.
“Well, bless your pea-pickin’ little heart. You’re quite the wishful thinker. Don’t let the door hit you in the ass, Wallace.”
“All right, see you out front in fifteen,” he said, with a wink.
Elle hurried down the hall and splashed some cold water on her face, saying a silent prayer that this attraction would die down before being foolish enough to act on it. For a second time. Because if she were to ever kiss Maverick Wallace again, she was certain she wouldn’t have the gumption to stop.
****
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.” She climbed into his truck. The stars lit up the night sky above like something out of a movie.
She’d joined him for breakfast, worked alongside him most of the day, shared a pizza after their ten-hour workday at the house, and now they were going to meet his friends at a country bar a mile up the road.
“Talk you into what? It’s a bar. You’ll meet a few people, have a beer, hear some good music. It’s hardly a big deal. Don’t worry, I told my friends you aren’t single so no one will hit on you.”
Great. Her ridiculous need to make him think she had a boyfriend meant she couldn’t flirt with any single men. Even the non-manwhores.
Maverick wore a fitted white T-shirt which stood out against his deep bronzed skin and made her girly parts all tingly. The white cotton showed off his spectacular upper body the way it clung and strained against defined muscles. His dark jeans hung low on his hips.
Confident. Cool. And sinful.
“Well, it certainly hasn’t stopped you from hitting on me.” She raised her brow in challenge.
“You haven’t seen anything yet, Peaches. This is banter. I do it out of pity.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” She was unable to hold back the snarl in her tone.
With one hand on the steering wheel, he used the other to reach for the water in the center console and flashed his panty dropping smile. “Your boyfriend is an old man. I figured his skills were rusty, so I thought I’d throw you a bone.”
She rolled her eyes at the ridiculousness of his statement. “You’re lyin’ like a no-legged dog, Wallace. And Edward is forty. He’s hardly old.”
His head fell back, and his loud laughter filled the interior as he pulled into the parking lot of Willy’s Brewhouse. “What’s the deal with this guy? You have a thing for old dudes? Or do you have a thing for royals?”
Though he likely meant it as a joke—he hit a nerve. Why was she dating a guy who was more than a decade older than her, and not interested in starting a family or the kind of future she wanted? He put the truck in park and faced her. When she met his gaze, he studied her with an intensity that knocked the wind from her lungs.
“Shit. I was kidding. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” He reached over and ruffled her hair.
She huffed and patted her hair back in place.
“You didn’t hurt my feelings. It’s a fair question. He’s a friend of the family. Mama actually set us up.” She swallowed hard as she took in his confused stare.
“Really? I don’t know a lot of parents who want their daughters dating old men.”
“Well, you haven’t met my mama. Her husband is much older than she is. Sadly, she’s more concerned about the title and the bank account than the age.” She lowered the visor to look in the mirror, needing an escape from his questioning stare.
Her mother would be appalled she was going to a country bar, drinking beers, and having fun. One more thing to add to the list of disappointments.
Why must you be such a Fiore? Mama’s words rang in her ears, and Elle pretended to fumble for something in her purse. It was a sinking feeling she found overwhelming at times. Like fighting to hold your head above water when the current refused to offer a reprieve.
“You don’t strike me as a girl who isn’t capable of rebelling a bit. Hell, you’re like a living, breathing firecracker waiting to ignite. You’re not the kind of girl who dates a guy to make her mom happy. Or are you the one who cares about the title?”
Wow. Like fingernails on a chalkboard, he had a way of irritating her. He knew nothing about her. How dare he compare her to her mother? Her reasons for dating Edward were different.
“Nooooo. Mama introduced us, and Edward is a nice man. Charming even. And sure, him being a Count from France was appealing, but not for the reasons you think.” She raised her chin and held her head high.
“An old guy with a royal title? What other reason is there than the obvious?”
He was no longer joking or teasing. He purposely pushed her buttons as he waited for an answer. They’d become friends over the past week. Sort of. And though she never had a friend who owned all her dirty fantasies, he genuinely seemed to want to know. But it wasn’t something she even knew how to explain.
“It’s going to sound really stupid.”
“Like normal then?” He smirked. “Spit it out, Peaches.”
“When I was a little girl, I was obsessed with fairy-tales. Mama always told me if you kissed a frog, you’d wind up with a frog. Her favorite saying was, go out and find the man with the biggest castle, and call him a prince. Terrible advice, right?” She paused as a lump formed in her throat.
“Yeah, not the best philosophy. Go on.”
“Well, Louisa, our housekeeper slash nanny, she gave me all the classic fairy-tales, and I kept them under my mattress. I’d read them all the time as a kid. Somewhere along the way to being a drop-out debutante, an embarrassing disqualification from the pageant world, and thoroughly disappointing every dream my mom ever had for me—I held out hope my real-life prince was out there. And he’d see me for who I am. Imperfections and all. And love me, in spite of it. I know it sounds stupid, and maybe it is. But when I met Edward, he was so enamored with me. He likes who I am. He’s a gentleman, very chivalrous, and I guess I like that. And sure, his home being a castle—it doesn’t hurt the fantasy. And finding someone who isn’t disappointed with your every move, is a fairy-tale in itself.”
Why the hell did she have diarrhea of the mouth with this guy? Dammit. She’d never live this one down. She waited for the laughter. She’d just admitted to holding out for a fairy-tale. Hence the meaning of the word—magical and imaginary beings and lands. Ridiculous. Not to mention the fact her prince had already turned into a frog. Again.
His fingers landed beneath her chin and forced her gaze to meet his. The contact so unexpected and electric, she sucked in a shaky breath. He didn’t smile or laugh. His dark brown gaze filled with kindness. Empathy. Understanding. Who the hell was this man, and where had he put the manwhore?
“I don’t think it’s stupid. You deserve the fairy-tale, Peaches. And I understand wanting to be accepted for who you are. I think it’s what we all want. No shame in that. Is this guy the real deal?”
She wanted to tell him the truth, but something kept her from saying it. Maybe the safety of Maverick Wallace believing she were in a relationship helped to keep things platonic. At least outside her imagination.
“Too early to tell,” she whispered.
A fist pounded against the window. She jumped.
Maverick rolled down his window. “Still assholes I see.”
Loud laughter boomed from outside his truck and he chuckled. “You ready?”
“Yep. Let’s go have some fun.”
Maverick began the introductions as soon as they got out of the truck. “This is Nick. He teaches at the high school we attended and coaches football too, and Ryland here is the most successful realtor in Lake Tahoe. He sold me the lake house.”
“Anything for Mav.” Ryland pounded Maverick’s back and grinned at Elle.
There was a comfort between them, which she recognized because it was similar to what she shared with Dani and Peyton. She sent them a selfie of the group, and Peyton and Jackson responded right away as they grew up with these guys as well. The night blew by in a blur as she was having a great time.
“Here you go, Elle.” Nick handed her yet another beer. Her fourth maybe? Plus, the shot of tequila she downed with Nick and Ryland. Normally, she didn’t indulge in so many cocktails, but being in this quaint country bar, up in South Lake Tahoe, with no expectations from anyone—she enjoyed the moment.
“I shouldn’t.” She giggled. “But I don’t have plans tomorrow, so why not?” Usually her type-A personality didn’t allow her to cut loose. Always so much to do, plans to make, and goals to achieve. She’d been chasing something for as long as she could remember. Approval, maybe? From someone incapable of giving it to her. The logical side of her knew it, but her heart—her heart wanted to mend things with Mama. Always had.
The renovation on Maverick’s house was going well and she was confident in her design vision.
“That’s the spirit.” Ryland laughed and clanked her glass with his.
She played darts, laughed a lot, and ended up leading a line dance, per the crowd’s insistence, but it had all been in good fun. She fanned her face when she returned to the table, sweatin’ like a sinner in church. The place packed to the hilt, and the music filtered through the dimly lit bar with tables disbursed all around the rustic wood dance floor. The smell of sweet barbeque lingered in the air around her.
“Thank you for the beer, Nick.”
“Are you kidding, you stole the show out there. Mav didn’t tell us you were a professional line dancer,” Nick said. “And having a gorgeous woman at the table instead of being stuck with these assholes, it’s the least I could do.”
Ryland balled up a napkin and threw it across the table at his friend. “Such a suck up.”
They laughed and Elle’s gaze landed on Maverick across the table. Is it possible for someone to get better looking while sitting in a chair?
The man was like a tall drink of—fine ass.
She burst into a fit of giggles at her jumbled thoughts, and how flustered he made her. Her head fuzzy and her hands tingled. His stare locked with hers, but not with the hunger she saw earlier. Now his gaze held a protective reverence. It left her warm inside. Or was it the booze?
“You doing okay, Peaches?” he asked, taking a sip of water.
She longed to feel those soft lips against hers. Setting his glass down, he smiled, as she stared at his mouth like her life depended on it. She didn’t care. She was more interested in the things he could do to her with his mouth, than any judgment he could throw her way.
She shook her head and lifted her gaze to meet his. “Why aren’t you drinkin’?”
“Someone’s got to look after you, right?” His smirk so sexy, her lady bits were on overdrive.
“Mav here never has more than one beer. He’s more of a boy scout than he lets on,” Ryland said.
Elle leaned back in her chair and took a slow sip. Since when did beer taste this good? Like sweet tea on a sweltering hot day. Smooth and delicious. “I’ve never had such
good beer before. Never ever. What in the world did you order me?”
Maverick’s laugh boomed, and she tried to focus on his beautiful face, though it looked a bit blurry. She hadn’t realized Ryland and Nick left the table. She and Maverick were alone for the first time since they arrived.
“You’re drinking Coors Light, Peaches. I’m sure you’ve had it before.”
“Hmmm—this must be a special kind of Coors Light. Imported from some sort of magical kingdom.” She fell back in a fit of giggles.
“Must be.”
“You never drink more than one beer? Then how have I seen you drunk before?” Were her words slurring? She stuck her tongue out and moved it back and forth to make sure it still worked.
“I can assure you—you’ve never seen me drunk.” His elbows rested on the table where he sat across from her.
The haze of people moved around her. Most of the women sported short skirts and cowboy boots. There were more crop tops here than spring break in Ft. Lauderdale during her college years. She wore a fitted white tank top, cut off jean shorts, and her favorite cowboy boots.
“Duh. The first time we met. At Jackson and Peyton’s wedding,” she said, leaning forward to whisper her next words, “When we, you know…”
He leaned in close, his face so near she could feel his warm breath tickle her nose. She closed her eyes as he spoke. “We made out. That’s your big sinister secret? And one of us was drunk, but it sure as shit wasn’t me.”
She opened her eyes and gasped at the sight of him. She slowly pointed and counted aloud because seven sweet, chocolate, brown sugar eyes scattered around his face. She leaned back in her chair; her fuzzy vision cleared when she put distance between them. “Whew. No worries, you’ve got two eyes again.” She swiped a hand across her forehead in relief. “You don’t want to know how ridiculous you looked with seven of those beautiful eyes scattered around your handsome face.”
He licked his lips, and she watched so closely she could almost taste it. She remembered how soft and minty his kiss had been.
Commanding.
Perfect.
