Little Dove

by Layla Frost

  “Juliet.”

  “Right.” I went down the hall to the room that’d been mine for a whole year.

  Considering how I’d come to live there, it was crazy that it ended up being the first place I’d ever felt safe. I’d been able to sleep without worrying Shamus would drag me from the bed—pissed and drunk and violent. Or that one of his drinking buddies would sneak in. Or that the faulty wires would start a fire, someone would break in, or any of the other stressors that’d kept me awake at night.

  But as much as I’d enjoyed having my own space, sharing Maximo’s was much better. I slept soundly because I knew I was even safer in his arms.

  After putting on a bra, I grabbed the rest of my intimates and swimsuits before carrying them down the hall.

  I dumped the load on the floor in front of the armoire before sorting them and putting everything away. When I was done, I went to my sewing room, following the scent of coffee that wafted through the air. I sat and grabbed the big mug off the tray, spinning the chair forward so I could sip my coffee and plan my project.

  And then I nearly dropped the scalding hot liquid.

  That sneaky bastard.

  That underhanded, heavy-handed bastard.

  Putting the cup down before I hurt myself—or him—I moved to the doorway.

  Or maybe it was just a way because there was no damn door.

  It was an open space.

  Storming across the hall, I was ready to demand he put it back when I noticed he was still on the phone.

  Maximo was leaning back in his chair, his legs kicked up on his desk and his cell pressed to his ear. But his gaze was on me as he ran his thumb along his bottom lip.

  A lip that curled up in a satisfied smirk.

  And then the smug, cocky son of a bitch winked.

  Winked!

  It was insanely hot and could work as porn for women all over the world.

  But it was mine.

  Not letting on that I wasn’t actually mad, I glared for a few moments before returning across the hall to my coffee and my doorless sewing room.

  _______________

  “Grrrrr.” My frustration grew as I reached for my scissors.

  Considering I’d only been sewing for a few months, I was doing well. Not because I was gifted or effortlessly skilled. But because I worked at it for hours and hours every day. And even when I wasn’t actually sewing, I was usually watching videos about sewing.

  But as I glared at the wonky hem on the dress I was attempting, I was forced to admit I’d bitten off more than I could chew.

  After tearing out the thread, I tossed the fabric to the side and went to our room.

  There’s only one thing that can help me relax right now.

  But he’s gone, so I’ll settle for a swim.

  I stripped down and slathered on sunblock before getting dressed in my swimsuit, coverup, and flip-flops. I grabbed my iPad and headed outside.

  After dumping my stuff on the table, I slipped off my shoes and coverup before diving into the warm water. I swam a few laps before coming up to see Ash sitting on the patio couch.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Did you put on sunblock?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Enough?”

  “I could’ve slid down here on my belly like a penguin, I’m so greased up.”

  He gave me a dimpled smile. “Got a Diet Coke and water for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  I swam for a while longer, my mind working at the hem issue while the water worked at my tight muscles.

  When my arms began to ache, I pulled myself out of the pool to chug my Diet Coke before it got warm.

  “You headed in?” Ash asked.

  “It’s so nice, I think I’m going to stay out and read.” I scanned his black tee and black slacks. Even though it was only in the low seventies, he had to be roasting in the sun. “You don’t have to stay out, though.”

  He gave me his version of the look.

  I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know if you know this, but I’ve been staying home alone since I was four.”

  That had clearly been the wrong thing to say because his expression went hard.

  I’d long ago forgiven Ash for pointing a gun at me. First of all, it wasn’t like it’d been the first time someone had aimed a gun my way. At least he hadn’t pressed it to my head—that hurt far worse than people assumed.

  Beyond that, he hadn’t done anything to make me feel unsafe since. He hadn’t so much as raised his voice, even when we’d worked on math—and I was sure that experience had made him want to die a slow death in the desert.

  But the anger that hardened his eyes and clenched his jaw reminded me that he wasn’t just Ash with the chill vibe and dimpled smile.

  Unconsciously, I took a step back.

  His eyes lowered to take in the movement, his jaw clenching tighter even as his eyes softened. “Not mad at you, Juliet.”

  “But you are mad?”

  “But not at you. And even if I was, you don’t have to be afraid of me.”

  “I know,” I said honestly, and not just because I was pretty sure Maximo would break his kneecaps if he so much as raised his voice at me. “Just instinct.”

  Again, that didn’t seem to be the correct thing to say, but Ash locked his expression down. “Go read.”

  I nodded, snatching up my iPad and Diet Coke. Going to one of the loungers, I glanced back to see Ash typing something on his phone, his face set in an angry glare.

  Stretching out, I opened one of the highlander romances Ms. Vera recommended.

  I got so sucked into the world of grumpy warriors, stone castles, and sexy kilts, I didn’t notice anyone approaching until they said, “Juliet.”

  Jumping, I nearly dropped the iPad. I raised my hand to block out the sun and looked at Cole.

  “Call for you,” he said, handing me a cell.

  I put it to my ear. “Hello?”

  “Good, it works.”

  At Maximo’s deep voice, my body heated in a way that had nothing to do with the sun. “What works?”

  Not answering my question, he said, “I’m sorry, little dove, something came up and I won’t make it for dinner.”

  I worked to keep the disappointment from my voice, though I was sure I failed. “That’s okay.”

  “It’s fucking not, but it will be as soon as I get home to you. Hold on.” His words were muffled as he talked to someone else before he came back. “Gotta run.”

  When the phone beeped to signal the call had been ended, I handed it to Cole.

  “It’s yours.”

  “What?”

  Giving me a phone was yet another show of trust. Maximo wanted my trust, and he was extending the same to me.

  Unbuttoning his suit jacket, he crouched next to the lounger. He swiped the blackened screen. Rapid firing off words as he flicked across the screens, he gave me the tour. “Browser. App store. Books. Music. YouTube. Texts. It’s synced with your MacBook and your iPad, so your settings, books, music, everything transferred. Swipe from the bottom to unlock and you’re good to go.”

  Only soaking in ten percent of what he’d said, my gaze went from him back to the phone.

  My old cell hadn’t been able to run games, apps, or anything else. It’d worked with prepaid cards, so more often than not, I only carried it in case I needed to call 911—the only thing I could do for free.

  The phone in my hands was the antithesis of that.

  One thing caught my attention most. “I can text?”

  He lifted his chin and touched the speech bubble icon. Loading a new message, he began typing Maximo before selecting his number. “Easy as that.”

  This could be fun.

  “Any other questions?” he asked.

  I flipped through the screens. “How do I get to the contacts?”

  Explaining tech to me was probably as frustrating for Cole as explaining math had been for Ash. But like Ash, he was calm and patient as he touched the scr
een a few times and brought me to the contact list.

  Maximo, Ash, Cole, Marco, and Freddy were all on the list, along with someone named Miles. “Who’s that?”

  “Head of security for Black Resorts. If you can’t get ahold of one of us in an emergency, call him.”

  Okkkaayyyy.

  Let’s hope that never happens.

  “No number for Ms. Vera?” I asked.

  “She hates technology. Won’t even upgrade to a Kindle. Let me know if you have any issues.” He went to talk to Ash before going into the pool house.

  Why does he always crash in the pool house?

  I brought back up the texts and typed in Maximo’s name.

  Me: Thank you.

  I hadn’t been expecting a message back, but it came instantly.

  Maximo: It was selfish on my part. Now I can text you when I’m stuck in these boring as shit meetings. What’re you doing?

  I grinned, the flutter of giddiness settling in my belly like butterflies throwing a rager.

  Me: Reading by the pool.

  Maximo: Send me a pic.

  I glanced over my shoulder to see Ash’s face was still buried in his phone.

  Feeling awkward, I opened the camera and switched it to front facing. I moved my arm around until I found a good angle and took a million pictures before getting a sendable one.

  My phone vibrated a minute later.

  Maximo: Christ, you’re gorgeous.

  Emboldened by his words, I brought the camera back up and took a picture aimed down my body. And then I took twenty more until I got a good one.

  Holding my breath, I sent it before I lost my nerve.

  The reply came within seconds.

  Maximo: Fuck, are you trying to make me come home?

  Maximo: Or just trying to make me come?

  Yup, I was right.

  This could be fun.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Sweet Patience

  Juliet

  “THIS IS WHAT you want to do?” Maximo asked, his lips tipped at one side as he looked at me.

  Clutching the candy I’d pilfered from Freddy’s stash, I nodded.

  When I’d researched ideas for our day together, most of the things listed were geared toward tourists, partying, or were super expensive—or all three.

  Going to a movie was the best option, but it seemed stupid when Maximo had a media room with recliners, a big projector screen, and a popcorn maker.

  Not to mention, I got the feeling he rarely hung out and did a whole lot of nothing. Before I’d come there, I hadn’t either. I’d always had more chores and errands than one person could do in a day. A year of being a homebody—by force and then by choice—had taught me how needed the occasional chill-day was.

  “Phase one,” I said. “Well, I guess this turned into phase three.”

  Phase one had been Maximo waking me with his mouth. He must’ve been at it for a while because by the time I woke, I was already on the edge. After I came, he’d carried me into the shower where he’d taken his time washing my body and hair before making me come again—that time with his fingers.

  Phase two had been breakfast in bed where Maximo had listened to my hem frustrations. I’d listened while he’d told me about the boxer who’d dropped out of a fight with less than two weeks’ notice because he thought he deserved more money. Neither Maximo nor his fight coordinator agreed.

  Once we were done with breakfast, Maximo had thrown on a tee and his gray joggers, and I’d…

  Well, I’d drooled everywhere.

  But once I’d found my brain again, I’d thrown on the non-janky sleep shorts I’d made and the store-bought ripped crop. Then, much to his confusion and amusement, I’d dragged Maximo to the media room.

  Grabbing the remotes as he moved, he went to the front and center recliner. I didn’t try to sit in a different one. I dumped my bundle of goodies on the little table next to us before landing on his lap. I knew it was the right move when his arms circled me, hauling me closer.

  He turned on the TV, clicked a bunch of buttons to load a list of movies, and handed me the remote. “Pick whatever you want.”

  Ultimate power.

  I flipped through before landing on Thor.

  Action movies weren’t usually my preferred genre, but a Hemsworth made a girl do crazy things.

  “Have you seen any of the Marvel movies?” he asked.

  “Bits and pieces on TV but never all of one.”

  “Then we can’t start here.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Cinematic universes are made to be watched in order.” He grabbed the remote and returned to the Cs. “We have to start at Captain America.”

  A Hemsworth may make a girl do crazy things, but Chris Evans made them do batshit crazy things while he cheered them on and encouraged their individuality.

  “Have you seen these?” I asked while it loaded.

  “A few.”

  “Probably hard to binge a whole series of movies when you never take a day off,” I teased.

  As if I’d sent a message to the universe, his phone rang.

  Me and my big mouth.

  “Shit, I’ve got to get this.” His expression was soft and apologetic as he hit pause.

  “Hey, I’m the one who jinxed it.”

  I moved to get up, but he held me in place as he took his phone out of his pocket. “Yeah?” Whoever it was talked for a moment before Maximo bit out a harsh laugh. “That was the point.” He was silent a beat. “Miles on it? Good. Get his picture around. I don’t want their asses on my property, or it’ll be worse. Yeah. Call if shit goes sideways.”

  When he ended the call and set his phone near the snacks, my curiosity got the better of me. “Everything okay?”

  “My lawyers served the boxer who bailed with a breach of contract lawsuit. He called to apologize, trying to get back in. It wasn’t going to happen, but we would’ve considered dropping the suit. Unfortunately for him, his manager got on the line and threatened Serrano.”

  “He should fire his manager.”

  “His manager is his father.”

  “That’s a recipe for disaster.”

  “Now, because his old man thinks he’s a made man with connections he wants to throw around, no one is going to book him.”

  I knew all too well what it was like to be punished for my dad’s big mouth.

  Poor guy.

  As though he’d read my thoughts, Maximo added, “The prick apple doesn’t fall far from the prick tree. Costa is a prima donna who thinks he’s the Italian Mayweather.”

  “Why’d you book him then?”

  “Because he may not be Money Mayweather good, but he’s still good.” His smile was cruel and cold. “And now he’ll be lucky to work as an instructor at a kickboxing gym.”

  Yikes.

  Maximo pressed his lips to my forehead before settling me back against him. He lifted the remote. “Ready?”

  “Yup.”

  And if it sucks, I’m comfy enough to take a nap.

  _______________

  Captain America did not suck.

  Nor did Captain Marvel.

  And definitely not Iron Man.

  I enjoyed Chris Evans’ good-guy, super soldier-ness, but I loved RDJ’s snark and cockiness.

  Apparently, I had a type.

  “Iron Man 2 is next,” Maximo said.

  I glanced out the window to see the sun had begun to set.

  Pressing the button to sit the chair upright, I stood and shook off the crumbs. “It’s time for phase four.”

  Maximo stood, pulling me to him. “And what’s that?”

  “Dessert.”

  His gaze dropped pointedly to the empty candy boxes stacked on the table before returning to me.

  “Those were snacks,” I dismissed. “This is the official dessert.”

  “Isn’t dinner supposed to come first?”

  “Yeah, but then we might ruin our appetite for dessert.” At his unconvinced exp
ression, I crossed my arms. “Hey, you said I could plan the day. If you want to be a healthy adult with an appropriate diet, do it on your own time.”

  He smirked and gestured to the door. “Then by all means.”

  I grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the stairs. “First we have to change.”

  “Dessert is a formal occasion?”

  Glancing over my shoulder to take in his furrowed brows, I laughed. “You’ll see.”

  When we got up to our room, I released his hand and went to the armoire. Opening the drawer that held my swimsuits, I pulled out my favorite. The dark gray top had thin straps and a wrap-style front. The bottoms were tiny and white, with a dark gray feather pattern. I was pretty sure they were supposed to be palm leaves, but they looked more like feathers to me.

  “Your idea of dessert is swimming?” Maximo asked.

  “Just get changed.”

  So neither of us were tempted to jump the other while naked, I closed myself in the bathroom before stripping. I changed and pulled my hair up into a ponytail before opening the door.

  I had good intentions with changing in the bathroom but there’d been a vital miscalculation in my plan.

  Maximo still looked hot in his black trunks that hung way low on his hips, and I still very much wanted to jump him.

  “You keep looking at me like that, Juliet, I’m gonna be ready to eat something even sweeter than dessert.”

  Realizing my eyes were aimed at the deep indent of his pelvic muscles, I darted them up to his face.

  Oops.

  But also not really.

  Before I changed my mind and stripped out of my suit, I headed for the door. I didn’t have to check to see if Maximo followed. I could feel him. Feel his eyes on me.

  When we got downstairs, I turned to Maximo. “Can you light the fire pit?”

  He lifted his chin and headed outside.

  I stopped in the kitchen to get the skewers and marshmallows Freddy had stashed for me. When I got outside, the backyard looked like a small island paradise. Unseen lights dimly illuminated the path to the glowing blue pool. A fire burned in the center of the rectangular pit, the reflection of it dancing off the water.

  But the most paradise-y part of paradise was Maximo in the hot tub. With his muscular, tattooed arms stretched along the ledge, he almost looked relaxed.

  Almost.