by Laura Pavlov
She stepped out of her car as Daisy, his hundred-pound goldendoodle galloped past him, eager to greet their guest.
Shit.
“Daisy,” he called tossing the apple core in the grass for the local chipmunks to feast on. Before he could warn Elle, his loveable mutt pounced, knocked her back on her ass, climbed atop, and pushed her to the ground. All while slathering her with wet kisses.
Jesus.
He adjusted himself beneath his sweatpants. His reaction to her left him—uncomfortable. He could only imagine the lashing from Elle if she noticed the raging erection currently straining against his pants. Sprawled out on his driveway she flailed, and damn if he couldn’t look away. He wondered what it would be like propped above her, while she begged him for more. It wasn’t the first time dirty thoughts of Elle Fiore filled his mind, but he had never considered taking her in front of his house on the pavement. It’d be a new fantasy he added to the list.
“Get your mangy mutt off me.” She covered her mouth with her hand to keep Daisy’s urgent kisses away.
Hell, he couldn’t help but laugh, of course the spicy Southern prima donna disliked dogs. And who the hell wore white dress slacks, a white blousy tank top, and high heels to Lake Tahoe? It was like wearing a wedding dress to a campground. He doubted the little princess was one with nature.
“Daisy.” He used a stern voice, which got her attention. Not the bitchy one on her back, but the non-human bitchy one who couldn’t stop wagging her tail. His pup moved obediently to his side, and Maverick reached for Elle’s hand to help her up.
“Why are you smiling?” she hissed.
He pulled her to her feet, and she tore her hand away as if the mere contact burned her. She dramatically brushed dirt from her pants.
“You all right, Peaches?”
“I’m fine, and you best call me by my name, seeing as I’m here for professional reasons.” She stood straight, face flushed. “And why haven’t you trained your beast of a dog? He probably ruined my outfit.”
“She’s a girl and just a pup. Still gets a little excited when people come over, but I will tell you, not the wisest move to wear all white in Tahoe. It’s kind of an outdoorsy place, you know? I hope you brought other clothes, for your sake.” He scanned her from head to toe.
So fun to look at. A gorgeous pain in the ass. Stunning. Her dark blonde hair trailed down her back, longer since the last time he’d seen her. Olive skin, mesmerizing golden topaz eyes, and pink full lips. She stood about a foot shorter than him even with heels on, but her presence was larger than life. Fierce. She didn’t take any shit, and he liked it. No woman ever spoke to him the way she did, aside from his sisters.
Her body was designed to fuel any red-blooded man’s wet dreams. Thin and feminine, with curves in all the right places. He’d fantasized what it’d be like to hold her perfect tits in the palms of his hands too many times to count. Every bit of her toned to perfection. He guessed her to be one of those women who took classes at a fancy gym to maintain her tight body. Working up a sweat didn’t seem like her style. If she only knew how many time’s he imagined her sweaty, desperate, and writhing beneath him. Damn. This happened every time he was around her. He’d screwed Brittney less than an hour ago. Imagining another woman naked while the other was still in his house getting dressed, seemed pretty-low, even for him.
Brittney had been a reliable booty call since high school, and any time when he came home since. He’d refused her during the few brief years she’d been married, though she’d been more than willing to cheat on her husband. Go figure, her marriage failed. Maverick didn’t mess around with married women. He respected people willing to make those vows to one another, his parents and grandparents were examples of how it could be. His younger sister, Marley, married her longtime boyfriend Cage a year ago, and they were ridiculously happy.
Maverick’s one true love was football. He’d never met any woman more important to him than the game. But he sure as shit had met a lot of ladies he enjoyed, both in and out of the sack. He didn’t mind repeat visitors as long as they knew the score.
Catch and release—his motto when it came to the opposite sex. Don’t stick around long enough for drama. Keep it short and sweet.
He was damn good at football and sex. No need to waste his talent.
“You’re seriously giving me fashion advice while you stand here in nothing but dowdy sweatpants, half naked? How about the fact that your mutt has no manners? Apparently, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?” She moved to the back of her car in a huff, and he followed. He bumped her out of the way and reached for her hard-top suitcase in the trunk. He’d never seen luggage in this particular color and definitely never one this large. Jesus, how long did she plan on staying?
“You have pink luggage?”
“It’s not pink. It’s rose gold,” she said. “Let me guess, people don’t bring rose gold suitcases to Lake Tahoe either.”
He chuckled because he’d never seen a rose gold suitcase anywhere—not just in Tahoe. Hell, he didn’t know it was a real color. He kept that thought to himself since she was already irritated by his mere presence.
“Whatever you say, Peaches. By the way, Daisy here is harmless.” He led her inside toward the kitchen.
“Well, you should at least warn a lady before you allow her to charge at people like she’s running with the bulls.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. Let me grab you something to clean yourself. I can give you a hand with your backside if you want?” He wriggled his eyebrows and handed her a dish towel from across the kitchen island.
“No, thank you. I don’t think my boyfriend would appreciate it.” A smirk pulled at her sexy mouth.
“Ah, yes. You’re dating some sort of prince or duke, right?” He knew exactly who she was dating. He’d spent a lot of time with Jackson and Peyton, and the Count’s name came up more times than he cared to acknowledge, but he didn’t need to tell her that.
“Not a prince and not a duke. He’s a Count.” Her tone softened, and she gave up on cleaning her slacks and took a seat on a barstool.
“Well, no disrespect to the Count. Just trying to be helpful.”
“Sure, you were.”
“You thirsty? Hungry?” He moved to the fridge and pulled out a few bottles of water and a bowl of fruit.
“Sure, I’d love a water.”
“Maverick, I’m about done.” Maria’s voice sang from the next room as he slid a bottle of water across the slick black counter.
Elle’s topaz gaze grew wide, and she leaned over the island and whisper-shouted, “Oh my gosh, you have one of your bimbos here now? I’ve been here for what? Five minutes. What is this—some kind of sex brothel?”
She glared, like he’d committed the most heinous act. What the hell was her deal? She talked about her boyfriend, but he wasn’t allowed to have women here? She was exactly as he remembered—exhausting.
Maria entered the kitchen, and Elle’s jaw dropped taking in the middle-aged woman. Maria stood five feet tall, her dark hair pulled back in a tight bun, and a wide grin spread from ear to ear. One of the sweetest people he’d ever known.
Yeah, Princess—you just called Mother Teresa a whore.
“Elle, this is Maria. She’s practically a member of the family. Helps me out when I’m in town.” Maverick introduced the two women.
Maria pinched his cheek. “Awwww, this is Maverick’s kind way of saying I’m his cleaning lady. I’ve worked for the Wallaces for over twenty years. I knew this guy when he was a little tater tot.”
Elle jumped from the barstool, all prim and proper, a pink hue spread across her cheeks. “It’s so nice to meet you, Maria. I’m Elle.”
“Yes, you’re the designer for the new house, right? Maverick speaks very highly of you,” Maria said, a smile spread across her face. Elle’s questioning gaze met his.
“Yes. I’m excited to go see the new place.”
“I’m sure you’ll love it. I’ll
see you tomorrow. The guesthouse is stocked with waters and snacks for you. Nice to meet you, dear.” Maria made her way toward the door.
“Thank you. Nice to meet you, too.”
“Bye, Mav.”
“See you tomorrow,” he said, before the door closed.
Elle’s stare locked with his, he shook his head, waved a disapproving finger, and made a tsking sound with his tongue.
“Did I seriously just call the most adorable lady on earth a bimbo?”
“You sure did, Peaches. Don’t feel too bad. I mean, her five young children might be deeply offended, but I forgive you.” He crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. She was so easy to mess with and for some reason, he thrived on it.
“Five kids? Ohmigosh, what’s wrong with me?” Guilt oozed from her sweet, sexy mouth. He should ease up on her.
Nah—too soon.
“You’re fine. You can repent at church on Sunday if you want. Maria’s husband Pastor Mike, is the closest thing to Jesus this town has ever seen. I’m sure he’d understand you calling his wife a dirty whore.”
She choked on her water, and he burst out in laughter.
“Don’t laugh. I’m going to hell.”
“Well, at least it’s always warm there. Although your all-white outfit might not meet dress code.” She was quite possibly the most amusing woman he’d ever met.
“Mav, you in here?” Brittney waltzed into the kitchen in running tights that covered her hot little ass like a second skin. Elle’s eyes widened to the size of saucers, and her mouth gaped open when she took in the tall, pretty brunette.
“Hey, Britt, this is Elle. She’s designing my new place. Elle, this is Brittney.”
His designer stumbled off the barstool once again, and the two women assessed one another with a quick handshake and a stiff greeting.
“Okay, I need to get going. Will I see you later?”
The question caught him by surprise. She’d never been clingy, nor inquired about their next meeting.
“Yeah, sure. I’ll see you around. Let me walk you out.” He followed her as she made her way to the front door.
He leaned in close to Elle’s ear when he strode past her and whispered, “I believe this is the bimbo you were referring to.” The smell of jasmine and vanilla flooded his senses, and she glared before he exited the kitchen.
“Your designer seems nice.” Britt’s face hardened, and her arms crossed in front of her chest.
“Apparently she’s nice to everyone but me.”
With a forced smile she nodded. “Okay, well, call me later?”
What? This was new.
He had one woman in the kitchen who hated him because he tried to sleep with her over a year ago, and another woman upset because he wasn’t in a hurry to sleep with her again. He and Brittney had done this too many times to count. Always the same song and dance.
“All right, take care.” She kissed his cheek before turning to leave.
Another first.
When he returned to the kitchen Elle broke out in laughter.
“Hey, I’m sorry for saying you had a bimbo here. My opinion’s worth a hill of beans right now. I’ve been in France with Edward for the past week, and I got back last night. I’m definitely sleep deprived, and I shouldn’t have talked about your girlfriend or your sweet family friend so disrespectfully.” She ran a hand through her hair before taking a sip of water.
“First off, no one is offended. I was teasing you earlier. I don’t think I’ve heard anyone use the word bimbo in a decade, not that it’s a negative thing, because I love me some bimbos,” he said, which earned him a chuckle and an eyeroll. “And Brittney is a friend, not my girlfriend.”
“Please, you aren’t serious? It’s none of my business, but she definitely doesn’t see you as a friend,” she said with a knowing nod.
“I’ve known her for years, but we’ve never dated. Relationships aren’t my thing, and she knows it.”
“Well, she thinks it’s a whole lot more than you do, trust me. She looked at me like she wanted to jerk me bald. And she had an after-sex glow about her. She didn’t like me being here one bit.”
“I said I wasn’t dating her. It doesn’t mean we don’t bang every now and then. But I didn’t plan on it happening right before you arrived. She was on a run and saw my car in the driveway. And you know, once she was here, she started looking at me all needy,” he said, with a shrug of his shoulders.
Her hand came down on the counter and a laugh bellowed out. “And you had no choice but to bless the lady with some sex?”
Her Southern accent was cute as hell.
“What can I say, Peaches? I’m very philanthropic.”
“Sure, you are. And for the record, Brittney was not out on a run. I’ll bet you a hundred bucks her car is parked one street over.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Trust me. This is my wheelhouse, Wallace. She played the part by wearing her best Lulu leggings, and I must say, she wore them well. But let me assure you, a woman does not go on a run in full makeup, hair down and curled, and a slew of colorful, beaded bangles covering half her forearm. Most importantly, unless her feet are made of steel, she wasn’t on a run wearing Michael Kors, metallic, slip-on sneakers.”
“What are you talking about? Why would she say she was on a run?”
“She knows who you are. You like to keep it casual, unplanned. You were brilliantly played my friend.” Her head tipped back with a chuckle. Elle Fiore was one cocky Southern diva.
“Why the hell would I care if she were on a run or not? It’s sex. It doesn’t require a work-out beforehand.”
“So if she called and asked to get together because she heard you were in town, would you have been game?”
He thought about it, and his answer surprised him. He wouldn’t have liked it. It didn’t work that way. They ran into one another and one thing led to another. They didn’t talk on the phone or ever plan to meet up. They never had.
“I wouldn’t have invited her over.”
“Exactly. That’ll be one hundred fifty dollars for your session, playboy.”
“You know, you’re kind of a know-it-all, Peaches. You think you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?”
“You’re textbook, Wallace. Now, let’s get down to business. When can we go see the new house?”
The little spitfire thought she had him all figured out. She was bossy as shit, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit he kind of liked it.
A little more than he should.
Chapter Three
Elle’s Tip of the Day
Always speak your mind!
Elle changed into leggings, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes. If Maverick weren’t waiting for her, she’d explore the comfortable, yet stylish décor in the guesthouse situated next the main house. She joined Maverick, and they walked the short distance down to the water where the new house sat. The outside of the property was phenomenal, and she couldn’t wait to get inside to check it out.
The three-story structure was similar to his current residence, but on a much grander scale. Sunlight brought out the rich brown and red hues in the wood planks, and the circular cobblestone driveway matched the stone on the home. Six wood-plank garage doors accented with iron hardware were situated on the right side of the house with windows cut out at the top. This home could easily grace the cover of any architecture magazine, and she hadn’t even stepped inside nor seen the lake view yet.
Talk about curb appeal.
Maverick opened the oversized dark wood front door, and she followed him inside. Her gaze landed on the large wall, completely blocking any view of the water, at the back side of the aged home. Outdated pink tile floors covered the entrance. Walls to her left and right formed more of a maze instead of an open living space.
“The inside needs a lot of work, which is why I want to get a jump on it right away,” he said as he closed the front door.
“Well, the outside is pret
ty spectacular, but from what I can see thus far, the interior needs some updating. Let’s walk through and see what can be salvaged.”
The kitchen was a complete gut job, as were all eight bathrooms. The home needed new flooring throughout, and the current layout did not make any sense. She photographed each space, the game-room in the basement, the six bedrooms, eight bathrooms, kitchen, great room, living room, and dining room. It appeared to be a much larger project than she’d anticipated. It required a lot more than nice furnishings and a coat of paint, especially when it had the potential to be amazing. They stopped in the kitchen and she stood in the center near the island and slowly turned in a circle, visualizing how to make the floorplan work.
Dammit.
She needed to take down walls and completely refigure the space, and her client had the financial resources to make it happen. But it wouldn’t be quick.
“Problem, Peaches?”
She met his dark brown gaze, so easy to get lost in it. A chiseled jaw covered in a bit of day-old scruff, his bronzed skin and dark wavy hair left no question as to why most women dropped their panties at the door with the slightest show of interest. And the man’s physique—he was a male masterpiece. His simple white T-shirt hugged his muscled torso and his biceps strained against the cotton fabric. Too bad Maverick Wallace was the best-looking man she’d ever laid eyes on, since the cocky-manwhore didn’t respect the opposite sex. Immature, self-absorbed with a one-track mind of screwing as many women as he could get his hands on. It didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy the sights—look and not touch, right? She hated behaving like a lust-driven, school-girl.