STUFFED (The Slate Brothers, Book Two)

by Harper James

  It must be nice to have enough money and talent to buy that kind of ego.

  “Thanks for the help,” I say, trying to sound as unimpressed as possible. But how can I not be impressed by all that muscle and heat? And those pale eyes that keep watching me with a glint of amusement…

  Is he flirting with the maid? I mean, I know he’s got a dirty reputation, but please. There’s no way.

  As I start to head to another spot on the patio far, far away from him, he speaks again.

  “Hey, now—I just did you a solid. Why don’t you do one for me in return? Tell me your name.”

  I stop in my tracks. What’s the harm? Any minute now I’ll fade into the woodwork, just as I’ve been taught. “Jenna Collins.”

  “Jenna.” The way he says it gives me chills.

  “Yup, that’s me.”

  “You know, I didn’t mean to make a bad first impression,” he says, his expression slightly amused.

  A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “Is there any other kind of impression with you?”

  Now he laughs, then leans his forearms on his thigh, running his gaze over me again. He starts at my legs, sweeping higher over my curves until he gets to my chest. He lingers there, almost as if I don’t have anything on at all and he can see right through the thin cotton of my shirt and bra.

  I should feel uncomfortable. I’m just a regular girl, cute at best, and Eli Brennan dates top shelf models and actresses and dancers.

  My body certainly can’t compare to theirs, even if I do have a nice butt from all the hard work I do. But the way Eli is watching me, I don’t feel less than.

  I feel…sexy.

  My nipples go hard, and my clit pounds in an achy rhythm. But I don’t have time for this. I never have. There’s too much work to do, too many problems to deal with, and romantic relationships have always been a casualty of my efforts to make a better life for my parents, little sister, and myself.

  Maybe I should just stop this player short by telling him that although I’ve mildly fooled around with a few guys, I’ve never really been with one. He’s got to know that he doesn’t have any kind of one-and-done shot with this particular peasant girl.

  “That was cute,” he says, still checking me out.

  “What?”

  “Your comment. You’ve got some sass.”

  It’s as if he doesn’t get my reason for being here: I clean toilets and scrub tiles because my family is desperate, making barely enough money with the business to survive. I’m not here because I like to explore the wonders of dirty porcelain. Does he see my edgy impatience as some kind of turn on or something?

  As he keeps watching me, I realize that Eli Brennan has built a reputation on loving a challenge, whether it’s on or off the field. And the fleeting thought that I could be his latest challenge has my pulse racing, my breath coming shorter and quicker.

  He stands—so fluidly and gracefully that it makes me go even hotter—then takes a few steps toward me. I cross my arms over my chest so he can’t see that my body finds his body irresistible.

  He’s so close that his voice seems to vibrate into me. “I was thinking about getting in the pool before Randal gets home. Besides, football’s hell on my muscles, and I could use a soak.”

  Somewhere in the fog of my mind, I realize that Randal Preston the Third probably cut short his family vacation because of this latest scandal of Eli’s.

  But the thought dissipates because Eli is right here, his shirt off, his muscles making my heart flutter.

  I swallow and manage to sound sassy again. “None of my business if you take a swim.”

  “I was thinking you could get in the water with me.”

  Now my pulse is kicking at every part of my body—my chest, my belly, my sex. And I’m pretty sure he can hear it, because he’s grinning again as if he knows that no woman can help herself around him.

  God. I just wish I could be any woman right now, especially someone like Randal Preston’s daughter Lulu, who makes the messes that I’m here to clean up. I want to sip daiquiris just like she does out by the pool, but even more painfully, I want to be in the water with this tempting, breathtaking man who doesn’t seem to acknowledge that I’m a drab, frumpy girl in threadbare clothing.

  “You really think I can just hop in the pool with you,” I say, frustration burning my belly.

  “Why not?” He jerks his chin toward the water. “You know how to swim, right? Or do you need me to teach you?”

  Somehow he makes the word swim sound wicked. But how damned clueless can he be? I’m obviously not the kind of girl who’d be a groupie. I’m sure he’s screwed many a maid for a house or hotel. And then some.

  I heft the pail to my other hand, and water sloshes out, nearly dousing his boots. “Watch it, Romeo. You’re going to get me fired.”

  “For taking a swim?”

  “For distracting me. If Mr. Preston or Lulu came home and saw me slacking off…”

  “Don’t you worry about either of them.”

  Could he be cockier? “I don’t think you know how much I need this job.”

  “What you need,” he says in that low, persuasive voice, “is to get wet with me.”

  Oh my God. His eyes are saying everything impolite and naughty that he’s actually not saying. His gaze heats me, making my clit throb even harder. I hate that he makes it do that more than any fantasy I’ve ever had.

  And he does it so well. When he reaches down to tug on the bottom of my shirt, I can’t move, even though I should be running as fast as I can away from him.

  “Come on, Jenna,” he says. “Get wet with me.”

  2

  My common sense—and my defenses—rear up, and I say the only thing that might put him off. “Are you trying to make me your latest scandal?”

  His grin fades as he tightens his grip on my shirt. There’s a darkness in his eyes that wasn’t there before, but he recovers quickly, just as if he’s fumbled and isn’t about to settle for a turnover.

  He slips his fingers over to my belly and brushes it ever so lightly. My sex beats with a throbbing pain that makes me hold back a small sound of pleasure.

  “You must not have heard the statement I made last night to the press about the Black Book Incident,” he says. “I was arranging some high-class escorts for a friend’s bachelor party—one that I wasn’t even going to go to. But the truth isn’t interesting to the media. They’d rather talk about my so-called sex addiction.”

  I look down at his hand, and he drops it to his side. I, along with the rest of Vegas (and most of the country), know Eli lost a major seven-figure clothing endorsement because of this black-book thing. The few true-blue fans he has left swear up and down that the league aims to make an example out of someone so they can shine up their tarnished image, and he’s an easy target.

  But as I look into Eli’s eyes, I have to wonder if he is telling the truth. I certainly wouldn’t bet on him, given his behavior in just the last few minutes alone with me.

  In spite of my resistance, I long for Eli to be touching me again. I haven’t felt this way in…ever.

  I’m seriously lusting after this troublemaking fantasy in the flesh, and I like the way he’s making me feel, just with a little flirting. It’s not every day a beautiful man shows interest in me. It’s not every day I consider throwing caution to the wind for just one brief moment of pleasure.

  “Well, it’s not my place to judge,” I say, finally.

  He pushes back his hair from his face, the muscles in his arm bulging. His grin is back, and it flips my stomach in a playful way that makes me want to smile back at him. I don’t, but still.

  “So,” he says, “does that mean you’re not gonna tell Randal that I made your job harder by distracting you?”

  “I don’t ever talk to your boss.”

  “But even if you did, I don’t think you’d rat me out, Jenna.”

  His grin tells me he couldn’t care less. Or maybe he cares too much and he’
s that good at hiding it. The only thing I know for sure is that Randal Preston is well known for how he’s taken Eli under his wing. As the owner of the Rustlers, he’s Eli’s biggest fan, even with all of his issues. I’ve also heard Lulu on the phone gushing about Eli when she thinks I’m not around, so maybe Daddy is trying to groom a prince for his princess.

  Good luck taming him.

  “All right then,” I say, hitching the pail up in my hand. “I’ve got to finish this patio. Enjoy your swim.”

  “It could’ve been a much better swim with you in that pool. Just sayin’.”

  With one last smile, he moves toward the water, all sleek muscle and athletic prowl. When he begins to take off his boots right there, I realize that he’s not about to go into the pool house to change into swimming trunks.

  Before he can strip naked right in front of me, I drop my pail and turn my back on him. I’m not sure what to do, because if I don’t finish cleaning the patio, I’ll leave a job half done, and that’s not in my nature. It’s not good for business, either. Maybe I should go inside to re-clean the kitchen until Eli is done out here? Or I could tackle cleaning the bathmats in the spa, which is one of the most disgusting jobs in the household, one that Dad had told me he’d take care of next time.

  When the French doors open, both Eli and I turn to them. It’s Randal Preston in all his gray-haired, polo-shirted glory. Even though he’s been vacationing, his skin is pale. He also has a gut that hangs over his belt, so maybe that was the reason he didn’t hit some fabulous tropical beach to show off his bod.

  “Eli!” he says, ignoring me as I drop down and begin scrubbing away. He’s also ignoring the fact that his superstar is halfway undressed.

  Maybe Preston is just used to his amazing wide receiver skinny-dipping in the pool whenever.

  “How were the Cayman Islands this time?” Eli asks, clearly not caring about being caught half-naked in the backyard by a man who is technically his boss.

  “The trip was as fast as it always is before the season starts,” Preston drawls. “My wife loved the islands so much that she took off to the Dominican Republic yesterday, but Lulu and I stayed for happy hour without her.”

  Out of the corner of my gaze, I see that Preston is holding a martini in one hand and striding over to shake Eli’s hand with the other. The older man is smiling, but there’s a disappointed gentleness to his expression that tells me he’s not happy with his player’s most recent scandal.

  I glance toward the French doors again to see who else has come home, and, ah, yes, it’s Lulu, who’s holding two martini glasses. She’s also eating Eli up with her gaze. Her silky blond hair tumbles over her shoulders so that the ends tickle her big fake bazoombas, and the sight of her almost makes me want to hide before she can make my figure suffer by comparison. A designer sheath clings to her slender body, and when she shifts her gaze from Eli to me, it’s almost as if she doesn’t see me.

  The next moment, she’s sashaying onto the patio. “Eli, honey! Miss me?”

  “In case you haven’t heard, I’ve been too busy raising hell to miss anyone.”

  For a moment, I’m deliriously happy that Eli didn’t cop to caring about Lulu one way or the other.

  She stops short of hugging him, basically because of the cocktails she’s holding but mostly because her father is guiding Eli away from the pool and toward some glass-topped furniture under the shade of an arbor. They walk right past me without any acknowledgment as I keep on scrubbing.

  Only Eli lifts an eyebrow at me as they pass, but I don’t react. I’m used to being ignored by them and others like them. They’re not even curious enough to speculate on the reason Eli had his shirt off out here with me—and why he still hasn’t put on that shirt.

  Not that I mind at all.

  After they sit down, Lulu gives a martini to Eli then sips from hers while standing with her back to me.

  “I’m not going to waste time, Eli,” Preston finally says. “Not when we both know why you’re here.”

  It sounds as if they’re going to have a private conversation with me around. But what’s new? This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard some juicy stuff from richies who think I don’t have ears.

  “Bad, bad Eli.” Lulu uses a teasing voice as she wags her finger at him.

  Her father sends her a loving yet impatient look before turning back to Eli. “Your issues are hurting the team and the league’s reputation. You need to clean up your act or we’ll be forced to cut you, son. In fact, one more screw up, no matter how tiny it is, will probably get you banned from the league for at least a year, if not for life. The team sure as hell doesn’t need that.”

  “We sure don’t,” Lulu baby talks.

  Eli has set down his drink on the nearest table. He doesn’t respond to her flirting. Preston doesn’t react to it either, while lowering his voice and leaning toward his player.

  “Now, you know I personally have a great fondness for you,” he says. “Hell, we’ve got a lot of similarities, so I get where you’re coming from. I really do.”

  I nearly bust out laughing. Randal Preston is comparing himself to Eli? The man hasn’t seen a gym in decades, if ever. He’s also got a trophy wife to cater to as well as a bitchy, superficial daughter, so his playboy years are long gone. He and Eli have about as much in common as LeBron James and Dick Cheney.

  Somehow I keep my poker face and scrub away.

  Eli hasn’t said a word. I wonder if he’s even forgotten I’m here, if I’ve disappeared for him, too. It sure didn’t take long for that to happen.

  “Eli, baby,” Lulu says, sidling over to him. “You have to stop being such a naughty lil’ big boy.” She traces a finger over his bare shoulder.

  I tighten my jaw. I haven’t known him for more than five minutes and I’ve already realized that his life isn’t just a bunch of fun and games. His life seems complicated, even if he tries to pretend otherwise.

  Preston turns to his daughter. “Sweetheart, how about you go inside and try on some of those lovely dresses I bought for you? You can show them off to us in fifteen minutes.”

  “But Daddy…”

  “I don’t want you involved with this, my darling.”

  She pouts her way out of the arbor as the sound of my brush scrubs the air with even more tension.

  While Preston waits for Lulu to leave and close the French doors behind her, Eli stares at the ground. There’s a look on his face that makes me wonder why he hasn’t demanded that I follow Lulu out. Maybe he also doesn’t think I have ears. Maybe he’s beyond caring if I do.

  “Eli,” Preston says. “Let’s talk about a serious proposition.”

  Eli’s gaze still bores into the ground.

  “You need a significant PR makeover, son, and I’ve got an idea about how to do that.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Good,” Preston says. “I’m glad you have a clear head about this, because ever since your latest incident, no one will touch you with a ten-foot pole. This time you crossed a line with the public.”

  It seems as if Eli is about to interrupt him, but Preston holds up a finger. “No one will endorse you now because of the lifestyle and morals clause that’s included in your contracts. And what’s more troubling is that those high-profile brands that have brought you so much cash and clout are dropping you like you’re a disease. That’s not good for the team’s image either.”

  Now Eli’s jaw clenches.

  “Luckily,” Preston says, “I believe this can be fixed with an extreme maneuver.”

  “You think so?” Eli’s tone is curious but not hopeful.

  “I know so.”

  “Well, what if I say to hell with all this.” Now he’s just bitter. “I am who I am, and fuck change.”

  Preston sighs. “That’s the rebel in you talking.”

  When Eli goes totally quiet, I don’t dare look at him. I don’t even scrub or make a sound.

  “You’re a better man than anyone knows,”
Preston says quietly. “And even though you seem to get a rise out of making everyone think otherwise, you want to make your team proud, make me proud…make your father proud.”

  Eli only chuffs. I don’t know if that means he knows Preston is right or if there’s something deeper going on.

  “Now, just listen to me.” Preston pats Eli’s knee. “That’s all I’m asking you to do. Got it?”

  Silence.

  Then the older man continues. “I think a fake girlfriend would fix this.”

  I sneak another glance out of the corner of my eye to see that Eli has dragged his gaze up from the ground to stare at Preston now.

  “Of course I’m speaking of a fake fiancé, to be precise,” Preston says. “Someone clean cut and wholesome to help you repair your tattered image. A PR makeover, if you will.”

  “Bullshit.” Eli stands and seems about to walk away, but then he pauses and says, “My on-field talents can do the talking for me, Randal.”

  “It’s too late for that.” Preston leans back in his chair, resting his hands on his belly. “You’ve cost the team a lot of money, and it’s beyond time to make up for it, son.”

  At the steel in his voice, even I take a second look at the businessman. Dick Cheney indeed.

  Eli’s own voice is just as cutting. “And who would this girl in question be? Do you have someone in mind?”

  “Why, Lulu, of course.”

  I think I throw up a little in my mouth. Jealousy surges through me at the thought of Eli being with Lulu when I have no true chance with someone like him. Everything just seems so easy for people like her. A life of luxury, a house like this…and a superstar I can’t seem to take my eyes off of.

  All hers for the taking.

  And does she appreciate any of it?

  Of course not.

  But Eli is shaking his head. “Randal, even if I were considering this ridiculous idea, don’t you think people would be suspicious of the connection? She’s your daughter and very convenient. Also, if I’m seen dating some very wealthy girl, it might make people despise me all the more.”