Off Limits

by Jules Barnard

  “No way.” He shakes his head. “I’m not doing business with Danielle anymore. This is a different client.”

  “Okay-y-y. You’re sure it’s all right with the owner that I’m here?”

  His smile widens. “Pretty sure. I’ve told them about you, and they want to meet you.”

  What in the world? “Your clients want to meet your jailbird, dropout girlfriend?”

  “Yup.” He leans over and sweetly kisses my lips. His fingers slide a lock of hair behind my ear. The kiss is innocent, but the look in his eyes is naughty and I like it. “None of that was your fault. Besides, adversity makes people stronger. Sometimes it makes them their best self,” he adds with a self-mocking grin.

  He’s right. Where Jaeger is today is infinitely better than if he’d stayed on the Olympic track with Kate by his side. He could have permanently damaged his knees, been crippled. And God knows what would have happened if he’d ended up married to Kate.

  I shiver in horror. That is a fate no one should suffer.

  It’s easier to look at another person’s life and know they are better off, not so easy to do it with your own. The only thing I know for sure is that my feelings for Jaeger are the real deal. I never would have known this kind of love had I stayed with Eric or someone like him.

  I cup my hand around Jaeger’s strong jaw and kiss him softly. I can’t believe he is mine.

  We walk to the front door, and a man with silver hair and reading glasses answers. He greets Jaeger, and Jaeger introduces me.

  “This is Cali?” the man says, as if he’s heard of me before. Jaeger said he wanted to shop some of my designs. Maybe he told this guy about my work? “Come on in.” The man smiles and waves us inside.

  I glance at Jaeger, a big fat question on my face.

  He grins and steps forward, following the owner through a large entry, which looks straight back to a wall-high view of the lake. We turn left into a living room about five times the size of the chalet. Wall-to-wall windows overlook mountains and lake, divided in the center by a stone fireplace.

  I’ve never experienced this kind of wealth. I’m star-struck by the view and the elaborate furniture. A minute passes before I realize Jaeger and his client are staring at the wall behind me. It’s wide and tall, and blank—with the exception of a single piece of art. One of Jaeger’s wood carvings, only this one is on steroids.

  The piece is the size of a small car, though the room accommodates it, and it is a-ma-zing. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.

  Another full minute passes before I realize the design is one of my own.

  Holy shit. It’s my yard—my backyard. The trees I sketch all the time. This is one of the first drawings I did after Gen and I arrived for the summer.

  I open my mouth to say something, and nothing comes out. My throat is dry. I cough to clear it, which results in loud hacking, as the cough from my pneumonia hasn’t fully gone away. “Excuse me,” I choke out.

  “I’ll get you some water,” the man offers, and walks off.

  “Well,” Jaeger whispers, “what do you think?”

  I’m shaking as if I were standing in front of a large audience. I have freaking stage fright, and it’s all Jaeger’s fault. My wonderful boyfriend sold a piece of my art. Our art. And it’s incredible. The way he captured the design elements, the shading from the wood itself to complement the image. There are no words for what I think or how I feel.

  It’s just a sketch of my simple backyard, but it’s stunning—the way I see our yard. And maybe that’s art. Seeing the beauty others miss and capturing it.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The ride back to Jaeger’s is silent, what with the bomb he dropped. It took on nuclear proportions when he handed me a check for my portion of the commission—forty percent. If he shocked me speechless with the carving, I almost passed out when he handed me the check. Jaeger had to get me out of his client’s house quickly; my speech had degraded to mumbles and gasps.

  Thousands of dollars sit in my sweaty little hand. More than I made in two months working at Blue. One or two commissions a year with Jaeger, plus my job at Sallee Construction, and I’d officially have a new and exciting career in art. Of course, I couldn’t do the commissions without Jaeger. His talent brings my drawings to life. Just like he brought my heart to life.

  He has a pleased grin on his face as we make our way back to his house, and he’s flicking me glances now and then. He knows he’s shocked the hell out of me. Seeing my design beautifully displayed on someone’s wall is like winning the lottery. There is nothing better, except being with Jaeger.

  I’ve turned into a corny, love-struck girlfriend.

  I’m okay with that.

  We pull down the long driveway to his house and my heart speeds up as his home comes into view. Near the front door is a brand-new white SUV. It’s not a luxury brand, but it’s new and my hackles go up. Another one of his female clients? A trick from Kate? Or one of her evil accomplices?

  “Don’t worry,” Jaeger says as he scans my face. “That one’s supposed to be there.”

  “Whose car is it?”

  I was looking forward to some alone time with Jaeger so I could show him how much I appreciated his efforts with my drawing and helping my art career. He is the best boyfriend in the world and I have plans for how to thank him. Detailed, creative, body-art-type plans. Sort of like Twister, bedroom style.

  “It’s yours.”

  Huh? “What’s mine?”

  “The car. I bought it for you, but really it’s an investment in my peace of mind. I might have an aneurysm if I go one more day worrying about you and how you’re getting around.”

  Normally, something like this would go against my whole I am an independent woman thing, but all I can do is smile. No one should be dependent on someone else for their happiness, but this is not about coddling. Jaeger loves me, and this is how he’s showing his love. He’s worried about my safety and wants to take care of me. The sentiment is mutual, because I want to take care of him too. That’s a part of the loving business. I don’t feel trapped or dependent. I feel loved.

  “You bought me a car.”

  He nods.

  I look at my pretty new vehicle. The sports utility aspect will come in handy. Good for Tahoe summers—and winters. “I love it,” I say, but I’m looking at him, the emotion he fills me with pouring out.

  Jaeger leans over and we kiss, long and slow, merging all manner of feelings into one point of heated contact.

  After a moment, I lift my head. “Thank you. For everything. Everything you’ve given me.” And I’m not referring to the car.

  “You’ve given me more.”

  Epilogue

  When I open my eyes, I realize I’ve been sleeping. I’m at Jaeger’s house, out on his tree swing. I was sketching the lake before I passed out.

  Hanging out at Jaeger’s has become my new favorite place to work now that his home has been detoxed of all things Kate. But his property is also like a drug—I come here and instantly relax. Good for my health, bad if I’m trying to get much work done.

  I sit up and stretch.

  “Finally awake?”

  I peer over my shoulder to find Jaeger making his way over. “How long was I asleep?” I ask.

  He scrunches his face. “Two hours.”

  “Two hours! Why didn’t you wake me?”

  He sits beside me and pulls my legs over his lap. “You looked so peaceful. And beautiful. Couldn’t do it.”

  I lean up and wrap my arms around him. “What have you been doing while I slept?”

  “Working. Got a new commission. They want to see your designs, too, so it’s good you got another sketch finished before you crashed.” He picks up the notepad resting on my lap. “This is awesome. It needs to go in the portfolio.”

  Jaeger and I have become a team with work. I thought it would be great to work on a couple of projects a year with him—was hopeful that maybe one or two of his clients would be
interested in our combined art. But so many people have loved the pieces we’ve done together that it’s become a full-on side business for us.

  At first we made two sketch/carving combinations and showed them around. Now people simply look at the portfolio I’ve built and pick the designs they want, purchasing them exclusively for Jaeger to carve. I love working with him, and I love what I’m doing.

  “You know,” he says, “you could probably quit your job at the construction company.”

  “No way.” I shake my head. “I love Mr. Sallee and working with the guys. As long as they’ll have me, I’m staying there.”

  He smiles and kisses my forehead. “Okay, babe. Whatever makes you happy.”

  Jaeger stretches his arms above his head and yawns, a sliver of muscled belly flashing me from the bottom of his T-shirt. “I could use a nap myself.”

  I slide my hand up his shirt before he has a chance to lower his arms. “Or we could do other things.” I waggle my eyebrows suggestively.

  Jaeger pins me to the swing with his large body, his hands groping and tickling me. “Is that all I am, a piece of meat?”

  “Totally!” I screech, giggling and fighting his fingers at the same time.

  He smiles down. “I can live with that.” He kisses me, and afterward Jaeger takes his nap, wrapped in my arms.

  MOUNTAIN MAN is the second book in the Men of Lake Tahoe Series and tells the sizzling story of Gen and Lewis.

  GRAB IT NOW!

  PREVIEW Mountain Man

  I yank up the bustier that shows more boob than I’ve ever revealed in my life. “This uniform sucks.”

  My best friend Cali peers innocently from across the aisle of the Blue Casino locker room. “You look good in that uniform. You should be thanking me.”

  The plan after college is to work at Blue Casino and save up as much money as possible before graduate school in the fall. Cali says she didn’t know what the uniforms looked like, but she knew.

  Cali grew up near the Lake Tahoe casinos. She could have warned me and I’d have chosen a different position, like, say, dealer. Instead, I became a cocktail waitress, convinced it would be less center-of-attention.

  Given that my nipples are an inch from greeting the world, I’m thinking, not so incognito.

  Cali’s been trying to get me back out there since I broke up with my cheating ex-boyfriend. I thought she meant emotionally, but Jesus, this is out there.

  Waitresses and female dealers swarm the lockers, stripping and pulling on fresh uniforms allocated by the casino at the start of every shift. Some prepare to take to the casino floor; others are finished for the day and dressing for home.

  The woman next to me shimmies into a gold lamé skinny dress and stilettos.

  Clearly, some people have bigger plans than me tonight. I tug on my jeans and slip on black flats.

  “Heads up,” Cali calls.

  The Milestone Pod that tracks running distance flies through the air.

  Cali had a two-second hankering for exercise this week. She ran a quarter of a mile and gave up. Apparently, she decided now was a good time to use her nonathletic skills to return my device.

  The Milestone Pod veers several feet to the right. I lunge and flatten my stomach to the bench, catching it with my fingertips before it crashes to the ground.

  I look up, exasperated. “Jesus, you’re like two feet away. Were you even aiming for me?”

  “What? I’m making sure your reflexes are in working order.” She shuts her locker and swings a low-slung purse over her shoulder. “How was your night?”

  I grab a few more items and close my locker as well. “They started calling me Snow White.”

  No need to elaborate on who “they” are. While Cali lives the high life of a dealer in cushy training sessions, I’ve been slaving away, slinging drinks in three-inch heels and trying to keep up with the veteran waitresses. For some reason, they’ve chosen to haze me out of the dozen new seasonal waitresses.

  Cali gazes up, her mouth twisting as if she’s actually considering the nickname.

  I drop my voice as we pass workers on our way out of the casino’s basement. “I do not look like a princess.”

  She pinches her thumb and forefinger together. “A little. But with a huge rack.”

  I open the door to the casino floor and raise my voice to be heard above the clanging and buzzing of slots. The sound is only slightly below deafening levels at this time of night. “They’re not that big. I’m sporty. Athletes can’t have big boobs.”

  She looks at me skeptically. “You need to be proud of those babies. Like me.” She grins and sticks out her Victoria’s Secret-enhanced breasts.

  There’s a chance I inherited my rack, as Cali puts it, from my mother, who does have impressive boobs. I might also have inherited her looks, only her hair is a few shades lighter than my nearly black locks and she has true green eyes. Mine are hazel, less obvious. I like my eyes.

  I’m sure the Snow White nickname has something to do with my dark hair and pale coloring. I’m equally certain the veteran waitresses think I’m young and naïve and not tough enough.

  I deliver ten drinks to their twenty, because I can’t freakin’ find my customers. The crazy patrons move around the casino floor like they’re pollinating slot machines. I’m spatially oriented; if people aren’t where I left them, I can’t find them. So yes, some of the hazing is warranted. But if the other waitresses think I’m naïve, they don’t know me very well.

  No one raised by Chantell Dubois could remain innocent. The woman changed her name to something that sounds like a French bordello, for Christ’s sake. I’m Genevieve, or Gen as my friends call me, but in spite of my mom’s fetish for anything French, I’ve kept her maiden name of Tierney—a hundred-percent Irish surname.

  As much as my mom wishes it, there are no Frenchmen in our bloodline.

  Technically, I could be French on my father’s side, but since I have no idea who he is, the point is moot.

  What I haven’t mentioned to Cali, because it seems like a shitty thing to say to someone who’s struggling with money, is that my mother offered to pay my way through graduate school. I don’t technically need this job. I just refuse to take any more of my mother’s money.

  My mom doesn’t work, nor do we have rich relatives. I assume she gets by with the help of the wealthy men that have flitted in and out of our lives for as far back as I can remember. Which is why I’m determined to earn my way through graduate school and create a healthy distance from it all.

  Cali takes in the look on my face. “That sucks they’re calling you names, even if you do look like Snow White.” I frown, which she ignores. “Tell them to back the eff off. Better yet, I’ll do it for you.” She cranes her head and glances around. “Which waitress started it?”

  Ah, shit, now I’ve done it.

  “Cali, do not say anything.” She would too; Cali’s great like that. But sometimes her eagerness to help gets me in trouble. “The person who started it is my supervisor. You’ll make it worse.”

  She shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

  We pass the last bank of slots before the sports bar, and a waitress I chitchatted with throughout my shift sees me and smiles this large, wide smile I’m beginning to associate with her.

  Nessa is petite at about five foot three inches—the extra three courtesy of black pumps to match our cocktail uniform’s midnight satin hot pants and electric-blue sequined bustier. Compared to her, I’m like an Amazon at five foot ten—over six feet in my work heels.

  I wave as we make our way past.

  “Who’s that?” Cali asks.

  “Nessa. She invited us to the dinner party tonight. Tacos. Yummy.”

  I’m not entirely comfortable around strangers, but it would be nice to have another friend in town.

  Cali shakes her head. “I can’t go, remember? I have a Skype date with Eric. But you should go. It would be good for you to get out.”

  Oh God, I forgot about the S
kype call. Cali’s right about me going, but not for the reason she’s thinking.

  The cottage we rented for the summer has thin walls. I’d rather not be around for the sex-Skyping. And Cali’s boyfriend is on my shit list. He hit on me a couple of weeks ago, which transferred him from absentminded, annoying-boyfriend-of-my-best-friend to a creeper.

  If I go to this dinner party with Nessa, it’ll kill two birds with one stone. Cali will think I’m getting out and recovering from my ex, dubbed the A-hole, and I won’t have to plug my ears at the moans vibrating through the walls. Win-win.

  And there’s no reason to worry about guys bugging me the way they do when I’m at work in my skimpy uniform. This is a small, casual get-together—not to mention I’ve got blinders on to the male sex. I’m all good.

  I take in houses with rounded eaves and shutters with pine tree cutouts as I pull up to the Al Tahoe neighborhood in my dented sedan.

  Nessa’s friend’s place has an A-frame porch roof that extends all the way to the ground, giving it the Swiss chalet effect.

  I walk up to the front and lift my hand to knock, claustrophobically aware of the roof inches from my nose, when the door swings open.

  The scent of chiles and grease smacks me in the face, and Nessa is standing there grinning, her straight black hair draped over one shoulder. “I saw you pull up.”

  Shouts erupt from behind her and I peer over her head, because she’s short and I can. My gaze lands on a guy with a baseball hat turned backward pounding his fist on a table.

  Nessa ushers me through the door, taking my coat and purse and walking them down a hallway.

  I fidget for a moment and stare down the hall where she disappeared, glancing every few seconds at the two people across the room.

  Nessa returns a minute later. “What can I get you to drink?” she says. “Zach has Coronas in the fridge and I made a batch of margaritas.” She waggles her eyebrows.