Maverick furrows his brow at me. “Umm...this is just the foyer.”
I have maybe a second to wonder if that word means something else in London than it does here before he slides a pair of pocket doors apart to reveal a sun-bathed multi-level living room filled with leather furniture and gilded crystal. A massive fireplace sits in the center of the room, burning blue in spite of the fact that it’s not that cold outside. I swallow hard.
The conversation pit alone is bigger than my entire apartment. My bedroom could fit in the fireplace and get sent straight to hell. Floor-to-ceiling windows give a stunning view overlooking the city, simultaneously giving a perfect view of my grungy neighborhood a few blocks over. I wander around in aimless awe past a wet bar full of bottles, and a stereo system which must have cost more than a year’s tuition.
“It’ll do for now,” he says with a blasé shrug.
“Oh, of course. It’s missing the uniformed guards and acres of lawn.”
He frowns, looking so legitimately puzzled that I would have felt sorry for him if he wasn’t such an ass.
“You sound as if you don’t like it.”
“It’s excessive. What does an eighteen-year-old need with a penthouse anyway?”
“Well I need a roof over my head. Why are you angry?”
I gesture around. “Look at this! No wonder you’re getting into trouble. How do you keep this place clean?” I regret the words as soon as they are out of my mouth because I know what the answer will be.
His puzzled frown deepens. “You mean, in between? I don’t bother with it.”
I sigh. “In between what?”
“Well, you know, when the cleaners don’t come through.”
“When the cleaners don’t come through,” I repeat, shaking my head.
“I’m glad you reminded me,” he says. “I nearly forgot about them. Of course immigration will want to discuss my relationship with the help, so you’ll need to leave evidence lying around.”
“You’re telling me to make a mess in your house to prove that I live here.”
“Of course! How else would you prove it?”
“Oh, I don’t know, by introducing myself to the staff maybe?”
He frowns. “Why on earth would you do that?”
I rub my temples. It’s like talking to an alien. “Okay, show me the rest of the place.”
The kitchen is massive, spotless and full of junk food.
There are three bathrooms. Three. For one guy!
The master bedroom is enormous with a four-poster king-sized bed covered in clashing animal prints. There is a library full of books that I’m pretty sure he’s never actually used, two guest rooms, a game room, and a music room full of exercise equipment. The labyrinthine style of it indicates that this floor was initially designed to house at least six apartments but had been changed at some point to serve as this ridiculous penthouse.
“Here’s the best part,” Maverick says as he stalks through the living room again with me behind him, trying to keep my face in check.
He stops in front of a huge sliding glass door that I had somehow missed the first time and steps out onto a patio. At least I suppose it is a patio—it’s taking up a full corner of the building and has its own swimming pool.
Potted shrubs and trees sit in a haphazard sort of pattern as if they are supposed to circle the high wall but had been moved again and again by an inconsiderate stumbler.
“Home at last,” he says, tugging on the back of his collar and sweeping his shirt off, revealing his hard, muscular body and that tattoo Jeanne had been so excited about. I have to admit the art is pretty good. The canvas would have been drool-worthy if it weren’t attached to such a damn troll.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer but instead starts to unfasten his belt. Embarrassed, I turn around and look at the flowers on a shrub instead. A moment later I’m soaked from head to heel by a wave of water splashing out of the pool. Gasping in shock and fury I turn around and glare at the pool. He surfaces and grins at me.
“Cannonball,” he chuckles, “Oh, was I supposed to say that first?”
“You’re an ass. My clothes are soaked, what am I supposed to do about that?”
He shrugs. “Take them off and get in. It’s heated, you know.”
The water that splashed me, didn’t exactly feel warm, but that probably has a lot to do with the fact that I’m already freezing standing out here. I swear, it wasn’t this cold when we were walking in. “It’s October,” I say, shaking my head.
“It’s heated,” he repeats slowly. “Come on. You aren’t scared that I’ll see that horrible bra and pant set again, are you? It can’t possibly shock me a second time.”
I can feel my face starting to heat up. I want to storm inside, but I feel as if he’s just dared me somehow, and I am not one to back down from a challenge. Ever. I rip my shirt off and toss it on top of his clothes.
“Hey! Now my things will be wet.”
“Good. Means we’re even.” I hesitate to unfasten my pants, but my ego is already in that pool, puffing its chest out. I’m in way too deep to back down now.
I kick off my shoes and strip out of my pants, then walk to the stairs at the shallow end.
“Oh come on, are you old or chicken? Jump in!”
I glare at him and walk around to the other end of the pool. He’s starting to get to me. I’m letting him get to me. I know this, but I don’t care. I jump in.
6
I feel it’s important to note that I am not, in fact, a murderous asshole. Well, an asshole perhaps, but certainly not murderous. I fully expect this insane girl to leap up out of the frigid pool and curse my name from here to Sunday. While the pool does have the capability to be heated—and occasionally is—it doesn’t happen to be warm on this particular day as I’ve been putting myself through some intense stamina training.
So when I see that she is fully prepared to dive in, I kick back and watch with a grin on my face.
She glares.
She jumps.
She splashes, though not quite as impressive as I had.
Then—nothing.
She’s pranking me, right? That’s what this is. She’s trying to get back at me for earlier.
Nice try, Beth. That’s not going to work.
I’m wading and watching but then three seconds go by, then six, and she still hasn’t surfaced. All I can see of her is a dark cloud of hair floating near the bottom of the pool.
“Oh, bloody hell.”
My body is beginning to react to the temperature, stiffening up and going numb at the tips of my fingers and toes, but I dive under anyway. Even I know that I won’t be able to bribe my way out of a dead body in my pool. Besides, she really doesn’t deserve it.
She’s actually been a good sport for the most part. My solar plexus cramps just as I reach her, and I double over, barely brushing her elbow with my fingers.
Power through it, man. Power through!
I force myself beneath her and make a break for the surface. The pool isn’t very deep, only eight feet at the end, but it feels like a kilometer at least. I struggle to the edge, dragging her with me. As soon as her face breaks the surface, she inhales in a sort of reverse scream.
“All right, all right, no need to get hysterical,” I say through chattering teeth. I slosh her out onto the patio and pull myself up beside her, feeling ancient and broken.
The sun is deceptively bright as a cold breeze slices through me. Beth is curled up in a shivering ball, coughing and crying. A feeling I don’t much like. I’ve got very little experience with the wriggling sensations in my gut.
“Well get up then,” I say irritably. “You want an apology? I’m sorry you fell for it, how’s that?”
The shock on her face is as palpable as a slap. I look away.
“You’re a monster.” Her voice is shaking, but I can’t tell if it’s from the cold or the fury.
“A monster would make yo
u walk home like that,” I snap. “Get inside. I’ll boost the fire.”
“To cook me in?”
I scowl at her. She shakes her head and stands up, still shivering from head to toe. Her cheap underthings have gone translucent, clinging to her hardened nipples and trimmed, er…trim. She is surprisingly easy to look at. Had I been warmer or in a better mood, I would probably look a little more intently. Even so, she catches me staring and flushes bright red before turning on her heel and storming towards the door.
“Are you coming?”
“Right away, dear,” I say sarcastically.
She doesn’t bother to respond to that. I follow her in, appreciating the way her perfectly round ass bounces around. I’ve never noticed it before, but why should I have? She’s never made a point to display it. Even now, mostly naked, she isn’t doing anything to accentuate her assets. It irritates me. Doesn’t she care if I’m interested?
I flip the switch on the fireplace as I pass it. She stands in the center of the room, dripping and shivering.
“I’ll get you a towel,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “Get out of those and put them in the bathroom.”
“I’m not getting naked in front of you.”
“Wake up, sweetheart. You already are.”
She flushes and looks down at herself, then crosses her arms over her breasts.
A pity.
I shrug and go to grab the towels. I leave my own wet clothes in the bathroom and wrap a towel around my waist. If she can nonchalantly tease, so can I. I shimmy the towel a little lower on my hips, low enough to put irresistible images in her head. She said she was in it for the money. It’s time to test that theory.
She isn’t in the living room when I return.
“Beth?”
No answer.
“Come on,” I laugh. “You don’t expect me to believe you left in your skivvies, do you?”
“In the bathroom,” she snaps.
I follow her voice and knock on the door. “I have your towel.”
“There are towels in here.”
“Mine’s better.” I smirk. “Mine is always better.”
She sighs sharply. I grin. I’m getting under her skin. I can feel it.
“Are you going to spend the rest of the day in there? It’s much more comfortable out here.”
“It’s dangerous out there,” she says shakily.
Ah, so I am getting to her. I’m sure she’s afraid she won’t be able to resist me.
I am yet to meet a woman who could resist me once I set my mind on having them. Of course, I have no intention of seducing Beth; she’s pretty enough, but she doesn’t deserve me. Not with that attitude. Or that upbringing—poverty isn’t a good look. But she is bloody infuriating, and I intend to return the favor.
“I’ll be gentle,” I say, filling my tone with all sorts of raunchy suggestions to get her blood boiling and her towel wet.
She’s silent for a beat before the door flies open.
Excellent. She can’t wait to get her hands on me. I grin at her, but my grin falters the moment I see her face. She doesn’t look demure or shy or even a little bit flirtatious.
She doesn’t look the slightest bit horny. Her eyes blaze, her teeth glisten in a grimace, and her tense body is wrapped in layers of terrycloth. She’s managed to turn a stack of towels into impenetrable armor which effectively hides her shape and hair, leaving nothing but that furious face free for the looking.
“You pig!” she shouts.
“Er—sorry?”
“You almost killed me! Twice! You almost disfigured me! I have barely survived a single day as your fiancé, and we weren’t even engaged for most of it! No amount of money is worth this.” She slams the door again, hard enough to make the art shake on the walls.
“Oh come on, you’re being ridiculous.”
“Fuck you!” Her words rip through the door like wild bears.
Hm. This is a conundrum. All thoughts of seducing her storm out of my head. Apparently, now isn’t the time for that. It’s time for damage control.
“Look, I’m sorry. But you passed the test!”
The silence stretches out for a long beat.
“What test?”
I grin. I forgot that she’s an egghead. Appealing to her sense of adventure or femininity wasn’t the way to go—I have to appeal to her sense of over-achievement.
“The test to see if you would actually be able to stick this out,” I say casually.
“You passed with flying colors. Perfect scores all around. You keep that up and I’ll be able to keep doing what I want to do, you’ll provide the alibies and honest face, and we’ll both come out ahead.”
I lean against the wall, smug in my inevitable success. But then she starts laughing. Not a joyous laugh, which would have been understandable, but a high, thin, mocking sort of laugh. I frown.
“What the hell is so funny?”
She opens the door again, theatrically wiping her eyes.
“You think I’m here to provide you with an alibi?” The corners of her lips are turned down into a look of disgust.
She has me off-guard and I don’t like it.
“Of course you are. What else do you think I’m paying you for?”
She shakes her head, still laughing. “He said you would do this.”
“Who said? Do what? Stop playing with me.” I growl, growing increasingly annoyed at how things are turning out.
“Dean Hamm,” she says, crossing her arms over her thickly-wrapped chest.
“He said you would try to use me as a distraction. He said you were going to try to recruit me as one of your little flunkies. Joke’s on you, big guy. I’ve never fallen prey to peer pressure, not even once. So shut the hell up and get me a change of clothes, I’m going home.”
I frown. “When did he say that? I was in the room with you the whole time.”
“He texted me,” she says nonchalantly, “gave me a whole lot of info on you. You’ve been running that poor man ragged, haven’t you?”
Warning bells go off in my head and I grab her by the shoulders. “Where is your phone?”
“Let go of me! What is your problem?”
“Your phone, damn it, where is your phone?”
She shakes me off and tosses the towel over her shoulder making it flop ridiculously askew. She rolls her eyes as she strikes a haughty pose. I want to shake her.
I want to shake her so damn bad.
“It’s outside with the rest of my things. Why does it matter?”
“Paper trail, you idiot!”
I run for the door, panicking as if someone would have scaled the building just to get their hands on this incriminating information. I snatch her damp bundle of belongings up and rifle through them as I go back into the house. Where would a girl like that keep her phone? I shove loose notes and crumpled dollars aside, then snatch my hand back. Her purse is well-guarded by a militant layer of sealed tampons. Gross.
“Give me that!” She snatches her backpack and purse out of my hands as I enter the flat, letting her work uniform fall in a sad, wet heap on the carpet. I kick it aside.
“Show me the texts.”
“Why should I?” She slides her phone out of an outer pocket and checks to see if I had managed to unlock it.
“Because if the two of you said anything at all about the deal, we’ll all be arrested the second we apply for that marriage license.”
“I didn’t think getting arrested bothered you.”
I want to wipe the smug look right off her face. “It does, if it means deportation, you absolute witch. Show me the damn message!”
I’m losing control of my tone and I can see in her face that she’s somehow pleased about that. I don’t like the curious look in her eye. It is none of her damn business, nothing about my life is.
Except for the parts which explicitly are her business, of course. I wish we could have contractually outlined those bits on paper, but that was out of the question.
&nb
sp; “All right, all right, keep your pants on.” She sets her bags down and unlocks her phone, then a deep look of worry finds its way into her brows.
“Oh my gosh.”
“What? Is it immigration? Hamm? What happened?” I reach for her phone, but she jerks it away from me.
“I swear to God, Maverick if you don’t calm the hell down, I’m walking out of here and I’m not coming back.”
I take a deep breath through my nose, but it doesn’t help. I’m fully panicking and she isn’t helping a whit.
“It’s my dad,” she says. “I have five missed calls.”
She goes pale and turns wide eyes up at me.
“What’s the problem?”
“I need to call him back.”
“Show me the texts first.”
“Shut the fuck up Maverick.”
7
My mind races as the phone rings. I can feel a latent pulsing in my wrists and my palms getting sweaty. I was hoping to not talk to them until after all this madness had been made legal and there was no turning back. Did he somehow figure out what I was up to? I can’t bear the thought of having to explain to my dad that he’s being robbed of the opportunity to walk me down the aisle for my first marriage.
There will certainly be another because Mr. Warm and Fuzzy seething before me is definitely not it for me.
“Beth?” his usually calm and soothing voice is rugged and laced with panic.
“Dad? What’s wrong?”
“I’ve been trying to reach you. Where are you?” He is frantic and I can feel wild geese flopping around in my chest.
Did something happen to mom?
“I’m downtown?” I’m not lying but there’s so much missing from that response I might as well be.
“Your work called. You’re over an hour late. You’re never late for anything. They called to find out if you’re okay and I saw John right after, and he told me that he passed a car accident on the road and a young girl was there who looked just like you.”
Vile Intentions: A Dark Sports Bully Romance Page 4