Love Hard

by Nalini Singh

  Her phone buzzed in the midst of her attempt to send him “loosen up” signals with her mind. Glancing down, she saw it was Wesley, the billboard guy, aka CEO of the company that owned half the billboards in the city. She answered at once—her temp assistant had messed up a second time and lost a critical billboard.

  Needless to say, Juliet couldn’t wait for her actual assistant to return from maternity leave. “Tell me you can do something for us,” she said to Wesley, her fingers metaphorically crossed.

  “Juliet, my love, do you practice witchcraft?” he said in his raspy chain-smoker’s voice. “Because that’s the only way I can explain this.”

  Juliet began to grin. “It’s not nice to tease a girl, Wes. Gimme.”

  “Someone just pulled a booking. You’ve got the central Queen Street billboard, the big daddy.”

  Juliet did a fist pump in the air… just as Everett, Jake, and the others turned around. Hanging up after confirming she’d personally arrange for prompt payment, she said, “We have the new Queen Street mega-billboard.”

  If anything, Jake went even stiffer. Everett, on the other hand, was clearly fighting the urge to break out into song and dance again.

  Vili’s teeth flashed white in that enormous smile that made him such a favorite with fans. “Me in my undies on Queen Street, huh? Not bad for a kid who couldn’t get a date for the school ball. Worth my mother’s wrath.”

  Christian and Leo emerged right then from hair and makeup. Neither had been too smoothed or polished—Everett wouldn’t have booked rugby players if he’d wanted pretty. This ad campaign was all about playing off the men’s rough masculinity. Though, according to her body, Jake was plenty pretty.

  The damn tingles wouldn’t stop.

  Promising said body an ice-cold bath tonight if it didn’t behave, she forced a smile. “Vili, Jake, if you’d please head into hair and makeup.”

  Face like granite, Jake went to turn that way when his phone chimed. Glancing down at the screen, he said, “Give me one minute. It’s my daughter’s school.” While Viliame continued on, Jake stepped away to have a quick conversation.

  “Is everything all right with Esme?” Juliet asked afterward.

  “She forgot her flute at home—but music class isn’t until later this afternoon, so I can drop it off after we finish here.” Curt words before he strode off to join Vili.

  Juliet was tempted to ball up a piece of paper and throw it at his head.

  Professional, Jules. Be professional.

  Since Everett was here to oversee the shoot, she made her way out into the winter sunshine of the parking lot to make a number of calls, including one to their accounts department to expedite payment for the billboard. Suppliers, distributors, manufacturers, she dealt with all of them on a daily basis. She knew more about this end of the business than her immediate superior, Iris—which was why Everett paid her such a competitive salary.

  “I would cry like a baby if you ever quit,” he’d said to her more than once.

  Her expertise was also the reason why, as of twelve months ago, she was no longer listed as Executive Assistant: Operations and Supply on the company website.

  Juliet’s new title was Vice President: Operations and Supply.

  Creative Everett and his pragmatic right hand, Iris, had made it plain that Juliet was being groomed to take over Iris’s position when Iris retired in three years’ time. The slow transition of power was why Juliet was here at the shoot—Iris had overseen the contracts while Everett dealt with the ad creative, but Juliet had been handed the duty of ensuring it all went according to plan.

  Iris was a call away if Juliet needed her, but this was her baby.

  It made her laugh sometimes, that huge title and attendant responsibilities for a girl whose highest qualification was a diploma from a six-month course that taught office management. But she was good at her job, that much she knew—even Reid had never managed to convince her otherwise. Not that he hadn’t tried. But that was par for the course with the pinhead.

  A tap on her shoulder had her turning around. “Everett. What is it?”

  “I’ve got to join my mom at the hospital. Kalia and her team have a good grasp of what I want, but can you direct the rest of the shoot?”

  “Of course. Is everything going okay with your mom?” She knew the other woman had been in for a number of surgeries.

  “Hopefully she’ll get a clean bill of health—doctor just had an unexpected opening and asked her if she wanted to move up her final checkup. She called and I said, ‘Go for it.’” His face was soft with love; an intensely private man, Everett was only this open with a rare few people. Juliet counted herself lucky that both Iris and Everett thought of her as a friend; she respected both of them enormously.

  “Good luck,” she said with a hug before the two of them parted ways.

  She returned in time to see Leo direct his megawatt grin at rangy Kalia Nguyen while Christian laughed in the background. The camera clicked, and she already knew it’d be a good image. Leo’s cheeky flirtatiousness would shine, causing women across the country to swoon and guys to want to be like him.

  Juliet enjoyed the view while ticking off a mental checklist of necessary images.

  Then out walked Jake.

  Her blood buzzed in her ears, her skin prickled, and all at once, it was difficult to breathe. Because clean-cut Jacob Esera wasn’t quite as clean-cut as she’d thought. She’d have known that already if she actually watched rugby on television, but unlike the rest of the nation, she wasn’t obsessed with the sport. She’d watch if it was on at a friend’s place, but she tended to treat it as background noise, her focus elsewhere.

  Which was why she’d missed the fact that Jake not only had a delicious dusting of chest hair, he had a Samoan-influenced tattoo that covered his left pectoral muscle and curved over his shoulder, then down to wrap around his biceps. The work was intricate and expert, the design following the musculature of his body. Within that were precise geometric shapes born of a traditional and respected art.

  “Leo, Christian, you can take a break while we warm up Jake and Vili for the filming.”

  Kalia’s clear and confident voice startled Juliet out of her stunned stare. At least she hadn’t gone slack-jawed or started drooling. And the men didn’t seem to have noticed—they were too busy hassling one another about being oiled up and sexy. Jake was the only one not smiling; the man looked like a wooden board that just happened to be in the shape of a human male.

  Juliet’s temper ignited.

  About to haul him aside to remind him of his contractual obligations, she caught the faint flush on his cheekbones… and suddenly remembered: Jake was shy. Not in a way that had stopped him from making friends or having a girlfriend, but enough that he’d never been one of the boys on their school’s rugby squad who’d whip his jersey off over his head when he got sweaty or muddy.

  The only time she’d seen him shirtless before now was when she, Callie, Jake, and a bunch of their friends had piled into a couple of cars and gone to the beach. He’d been fine then, probably because hanging out at the beach in board shorts was something he’d done often enough to be used to it.

  His stiffness today had nothing to do with her.

  Why, though, was the man doing an underwear commercial of all things if he was so uncomfortable with it? Especially when he had no reason to be uncomfortable. Muscled in a sleek way, Jake’s body spoke of strength and hard work. Every cell in Juliet’s body vibrated with the urge to kiss, to touch. Ah hell, she wanted to jump on him and cling like a lemur while she licked and sucked.

  Right at that moment, however, she was more worried about his comfort than her misbehaving hormones.

  Must be the ghost of her loyalty to Callie.

  “Vili, Jake, let’s start off casual,” Kalia said. “Walk around as if you’re in the locker room after a game. Ignore the cameras. We’re not here.”

  Vili grinned and mimed grabbing a towel.

 
Kalia kept up the patter, inserting a few bad rugby jokes into the mix that had the winger laughing.

  Jake continued with his flawless impression of a mannequin.

  11

  Trouble

  “We need to get the tattoo.” Juliet came to stand right beside the photographer. “No way the Goody Two-shoes I knew in high school would get ink.”

  All three of his teammates hooted.

  “You knew him in high school?” Leo said. “Our Jakester was a saint back then too? You know the fans have started calling him the Saint, right?”

  Actually, Juliet hadn’t known that. “Figures,” she said as Jake mock-punched Leo. “He managed to get the prize for Sportsman of the Year and the principal’s Innovation Award for an idea to do with a part for car engines. Don’t ask me what. But the school called his parents in for a special meeting and suggested he might want to aim for a degree in mechanical engineering.”

  “No fucking way.” Leo elbowed him. “You’ve been holding out on us, Jake. Next we’ll be finding out about your secret PhD.”

  Shoulders loosening at last, Jake looked down for a second before glancing back up. “That’s Dr. Jacob Esera to you,” he said with a slight half smile that was a punch to the solar plexus, it was such a gorgeous mix of shyness and pride and embarrassment and amusement all at once.

  Kalia began to click away, though the other woman’s camera was no longer making any sounds. Clever.

  Jake relaxed even further as his teammates continued to razz him, and Juliet gave the recording crew the signal to catch it. They had a script for the commercial, but this kind of casual, funny banter would play even better if the players would agree to release it once they’d viewed the footage.

  Jake’s lighthearted expression only darkened when his gaze landed on Juliet.

  She smirked at him. “So, Mr. Innovation Award, tell us about the tattoos,” she said, realizing a beat too late that maybe he’d gotten them after the worst event of his life.

  Her stomach dropped.

  “Sure, Queen of Detention.”

  Jake’s annoyed answer melted the ice that had begun to form in her blood. The last thing she ever wanted to do was bring up his final days with Callie. Because one thing was true: Jake had loved her best friend with all his teenage heart. Juliet hadn’t needed to witness it to know he’d been devastated by her death.

  Vili was the one who egged Jake on this time. “Queen of Detention?” He looked Juliet up and down in a way that was so good-natured she couldn’t take offense. “Nah, you look like you got straight As and were teacher’s pet.”

  Juliet took a theatrical bow. “Proud holder of the school record for most detentions in a row. Even saw Jake there… one time.”

  That set the others off again, and it was only when the hassling had calmed down that Jake said, “Tattoos are tradition in our family. Gabe, Sailor, Danny, and I each got to choose a design and received pieces of it on major birthdays starting from when we turned eighteen.”

  “You cry?” Christian said to Jake, then angled one foot to show the small tattoo on his anklebone. “I wept like a baby, man.”

  Viliame whistled. “Right on the bone? Better you than me.”

  Leo, meanwhile, had his hands on his hips and was shaking his head. “I prefer to keep this sexy canvas pristine,” he said, pious as a monk. “No one with a frickin’ needle and ink is getting anywhere near it.”

  Catching the rugby ball Juliet threw into the mix, Christian aimed it at Leo. “Pussy.”

  Leo caught it, spun it to Jake. “By which you must mean a man with high levels of intelligence.”

  Grinning, Jake, who’d been voted the “safest pair of hands” in rugby two years past, spun the oval ball into Viliame’s big hands. “How about the lion emoji the fans use for you online? Full size on the chest.”

  “Nah,” Christian said in that deep voice of his. “You know he wants an elephant—with a certain part of his anatomy as the trunk.”

  “Hey, not my fault you’re jealous of my trunk,” Leo retorted without pause.

  “Oh, ouch.” Christian clutched at his chest. “That might hurt if you weren’t a shrimp.”

  “Yeah, well, better a sexy shrimp than a floppy flounder.”

  Christian, known for his intense and unsmiling expression on-field, doubled over. “Floppy flounder? Jesus.”

  All four of the men were laughing now, and Juliet knew her team had plenty of footage that could be cut for an excellent commercial. The words spoken didn’t matter as there’d be a voice-over for most of it. What Everett had needed was relaxed interaction between the men, the impression of them hanging out in a locker room—while wearing designer underwear.

  Shoving a hand through his hair, his eyes bright with humor, Jake looked straight at the still camera. Juliet didn’t think he’d done it on purpose—Kalia was moving around too fast. But from what she could glimpse on the computer to their right, to which Kalia’s camera was automatically feeding the photos, the shot was impossibly perfect. Jake’s abs were defined in beautiful relief, the light caressing his tattoos, his hair tumbled enough that he looked like he’d just rolled out of bed.

  The boxer briefs he had on were black with a partial design on the right-hand side that was subtly spotlighted as a result of his position.

  It couldn’t have been a better shot had they choreographed it.

  “I messed up my hair,” he said with a grimace. “Do I have to go back and get it fixed?”

  “No, we’re good,” Kalia reassured him. “Another few shots of you alone, then Vili, and we’re done.”

  Jake didn’t stiffen up again, but he exited the faux locker room the instant Kalia announced she had everything she needed from him. “I have to drop my daughter’s flute off at her school,” he said to the other guys.

  Juliet’s phone buzzed as Jake disappeared into the changing area, but she spoke to Kalia before answering. “With Vili, we want playful along with a bit of swagger. I’ll be back after I handle this call.”

  “No sweat,” Kalia said, her eyes already on her model. “I couldn’t take a bad picture of Viliame if I tried.”

  Leaving Kalia to it, Juliet stepped outside. She was finishing up her call when Jake walked out. He paused, as if about to say something, then strode on toward his SUV.

  “Bye, Jake,” she said after hanging up the call, relief cool and heavy twining with another, thornier emotion. “Thank God that’s over.” She wouldn’t see him again for six months, at the next contracted shoot.

  Plenty of time for this alien attraction to fizzle out.

  That night she dreamed of tracing the coils and shapes of his tattoo with her tongue, fantasized about licking sweat from his skin after a hard game of rugby, and woke at midnight to the impression of his strong body pinning her to the bed while he smiled down at her.

  “Oh hell.”

  Juliet was in trouble.

  * * *

  Jake lay in bed at one in the morning, staring up at the ceiling. He was usually an early-to-bed, early-to-rise man, but today his mind wouldn’t stop running around in circles.

  The shoot had gone far better than he’d expected.

  A little because of the guys and how not seriously they’d taken it, but mostly because of Juliet. Though it hadn’t been until bedtime that he’d realized she’d picked up on his nerves and deliberately distracted him.

  It was a whole lot terrifying that Juliet, of all people, knew him well enough to discern that. He could still remember the first time he’d seen her. Her hair had been messily braided, her uniform skirt torn slightly along the hem, and her uniform shirt haphazardly tucked in. Yet there’d been a kind of pride to her that dared him to make a comment.

  Not that Jake would have regardless. He’d been raised better than that. His mother would’ve clipped him upside the head, then sent him out to spread fresh manure over her entire vegetable garden if she’d heard that he was critiquing girls’ clothing.

  Too bad he’d
forgotten his mother’s lesson on the day of the wedding.

  Back in school, it hadn’t been Juliet’s clothes that roused his interest anyway. It had been her air of not giving a single fuck. Pretty much the only time she hadn’t given that impression was with Calypso. Every so often, he’d find them together and they’d be laughing, their heads together. But Juliet’s softness had only been for her best friend.

  Jake never got anything but hackles and snark.

  Now that same defiant girl was tensing up his insides. His urge to poke and play with her had only gotten worse since the shoot, after he’d seen her in action in her chosen field of work. That her boss had left her in charge of such a major and expensive endeavor said a hell of a lot about the trust the man had in her.

  God, she’d looked hot being all competent and professional.

  He’d wanted to stroke his hand over the curve of her butt the entire time. His palm still tingled. But most of all, he’d wanted to cross words with her, just to have her focused on him, even if it was only to aggravate.

  He knew she thought him a stuffy ass, but he didn’t care.

  He didn’t feel stuffy when he was with her. He felt young and a little wild and had sex on the brain in a way he hadn’t since he was a teenager who’d just discovered girls.

  His body began to harden even as his brain flashed bright red warning signals.

  Jake had never been attracted to the type of woman who bragged about being a WAG—a wife or girlfriend of a sports star. That was exactly what the tabloids had branded Juliet during her relationship with Reid Mescall, and even though the attention hadn’t been her doing—the label slapped on her rather than claimed—her past notoriety would mean a media onslaught the instant Jake was seen with her.

  It was the very thing he’d spent his entire professional career avoiding.

  He fisted his hand against the sheet.

  Why was he even thinking about this? It wasn’t as if he planned to ask her out. Ask Juliet out? Was he nuts? She’d laugh herself into a coma, then shred him to pieces for having had the nerve to think she’d give him a second look. Though… he felt weirdly hollow at the idea of not seeing her again for months.