Authors: Mackenzie Crowne
He punched at a button on the panel in front of him and stepped onto the side runners to straddle the slowing belt. Doubt shimmered in his slate gray eyes. “You’re not making this up to get back at me for fixing you up last month?”
She shuddered with exaggerated violence, simply for effect. “Didn’t we agree never to mention Six-Hands-Stan ever again?”
An angry grumble vibrated in Max’s chest. “I should’ve broken his arm.”
She chuckled. “And then I would’ve broken yours. Who was it taught me to take care of myself?”
A faint flush of guilt stained his cheekbones. In direct contrast, a healthy dose of smug pride curled one corner of his lips. The sharp contradiction made her grin. Most people never witnessed the mushy heart beneath the rough exterior. His stern face and tattooed fighter’s body normally made people cross the street rather than risk getting too close. Unless that person was a woman, of course.
She shook her head. What was it about bad boys?
Four years her senior and living on his own for the first time after a childhood spent bouncing around in the foster care system, the self-trained cage fighter won her undying gratitude shortly after she and Sarah moved in across the hall in one of the city’s toughest neighborhoods. Coming upon a frightening scene in the building’s stairwell where two teenage residents had cornered her, Max had effectively appointed himself as her protector, chasing the boys off and promising swift retribution if anything should happen to her in the future.
Insisting a naïve, domestic kitten had no hope of surviving in the wilds of New York City’s public housing, he began instructing her in the art of street fighting. Like a Harley-driving drill instructor, he pushed her until achieving his goal of transforming her into a wiry, jungle cat, capable of self-defense through stealth and smarts. She’d quickly developed a case of hero worship. The hero worship eventually grew into a friendship she needed more than she cared to admit, especially since Sarah’s death, and as she’d come to understand, he did as well.
Unfortunately, when your best friend was a guy with a knight-in-shining-armor complex, things got a little wonky whenever the subject of relationships came up. Crying on his shoulder over her first real
boyfriend
her second year of college had been a colossal mistake. First, because she hadn’t actually loved the guy and second, her blubbering turned Max into a matchmaking maniac, determined to find her a good man who would keep her safe and never break her heart.
Ha! Like such a man existed.
She’d hoped the Stan incident would finally put an end to Max’s matchmaking, especially since his concern wasn’t necessary. She dated. Not often, admittedly, but since relationships rarely worked out anyway, what was the point? Considering the way they’d both grown up, and his scorn for the concept of happily ever after, at least for himself, she marveled at his insistence there was a man out there who would make her dreams of a family come true, if she only remained open to the possibility.
“I’m not making this up. Jake is the twins’ half brother. He moved into the farmhouse last night.”
“Holy shit.” He blew a sharp breath in an airy whistle.
“Hello! Tell me about it.” She jammed a finger to the kill switch on her machine and slowed her pace as the belt came to a stop. “God, what am I going to do?”
Stepping off his machine to take her arm, he led her through the gym toward his office. Across the room, Vern, the retired boxer who had befriended Max years ago and acted as the gym's honorary manager, nodded when Max cocked his head back toward the busy machines in silent communication, then shut his office door behind them. She wandered over to the file cabinet in one corner of the small room and rubbed a fingertip over the laces of the ancient pair of boxing gloves hanging from one of the handles. When she couldn’t stand the silence anymore, she glanced around.
He leaned against the front of his desk, arms crossed. “You okay?”
She shut her eyes. He’d been at her side throughout Sarah’s illness, holding her hand when the cancer finally took her and they lowered her sister’s body into the ground. He, more than anyone else, understood what custody of the girls meant to her. He’d also be the first one to tell her
the fight ain’t over till it’s over
. She sucked in a deep breath, turned, opened her eyes and nodded.
“Atta girl.” He studied her in silence for a long moment, then his lips turned up on one side, the way they did when he was up to some kind of mischief. “As for what you’re going to do? For all intents and purposes, Jake Malone is your new roommate. If you put your mind to it, I’m sure you’ll come up with a few ideas.”
A nervous quiver permeated her derisive smirk. Thanks to the kiss she’d shared with Jake in the foyer this morning, she’d have no trouble coming up with a few incredibly yummy ideas. Ideas better left unexplored.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. You’ve had a thing for the guy for years. People rarely get the opportunity to realize their darkest dream. It’s a sin not to act when a chance like this comes along.”
“I’ll go to confession.” She narrowed her eyes at his grin.
He crossed his legs at the ankles. “All I’m saying is, you’ve been handed the chance of a lifetime.”
“What I’ve been handed is the housemate from hell. This is going to end in disaster.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I don’t?” She set the gloves to swinging with a flick of her finger then flopped onto the old leather couch along the wall. “Setting aside the elephant in the room for the moment, I cost the guy twenty-five grand after insulting him on my blog.”
“He insulted you
,
remember? You both apologized, so what’s the problem?”
“The problem is, our mutual apologies have only generated more interest. I had seventeen requests for dual interviews in my e-mail this morning. If they find out we’re housemates….” She shuddered, this time with no exaggeration. “I don’t even want to think about that possibility, but more importantly, what about the girls? I can’t lose them.”
He dipped his head, holding her gaze intently. “You won’t. You said they’ll ultimately do the choosing. Do you really think they’ll pick him over you? Come on.”
“A big brother?” She ripped the sliding scrunchy out of her hair and jammed her fingers through the damp strands before twisting them back up again. “Charlie’s already mesmerized by the idea. Angel may be a little slower to come around, but she’ll get there eventually. We’re talking about Jake Malone here. He’s Mr. Irresistible to females.”
“Mr. Irresistible?” His sly smile and drawn-out words were declaration and question in one.
“You know what I mean.” She blew out a breath. “Anyway, it’s not only the custody worry, though, that’s my main concern. Pro football is an elite but relatively small club. They
know
each other, Max.”
He sighed. “Ah, the elephant.”
“Yeah, the elephant. What if Jake makes the connection?”
“Why would he? Your mother’s diary claimed she wasn’t sure if your father even knew about you. Since he’s never tried to make contact, odds are he doesn’t.”
“Odds aren’t exactly my friend these days. I mean, what are the odds Jake would turn out to be Sarah’s stepson, or he’d arrive at the farm three days after showing up on my blog? I swear, evil gremlins have taken control of my life.”
Max’s bark of laughter made her smile and eased some of her building panic.
“I see your point, but as usual, you’re paranoid when it comes to this subject.”
She opened her mouth to argue.
He held up a hand. “You’re the only one who knows your father’s dirty little secret.”
“
You
know.”
“Yeah, but I’m not about to blab. You’re in the clear. Unless you follow my good advice by walking up to the man and saying, ‘Hi, Pops. Nice to meet ya.’”
She groaned, not having to imagine how that bombshell would go over. Throughout the years, she’d spent countless hours imagining springing the truth of her paternity on the man who fathered her. In every single case, he’d worn the same horrified grimace as the one tightening Jake’s features when he discovered he had not one, but two, little sisters.
She swallowed back the oily film rising in her throat. “Not going to happen.”
Max’s sigh was long-suffering. “I think you’re making a mistake there.”
“So you’ve said before, but nothing good would come of introducing myself. He has a family, for heaven’s sake.”
He shook his head. “Gracie. You’re his daughter. That makes you family, too.”
* * * *
Quiet conversation, accentuated by an occasional burst of male laughter, filled the crowded media conference room. The Marauders’ offensive line milled about in small groups or sat in the rows of molded plastic chairs facing the large, flat screen TV where the game tapes for this week’s matchup would be queued up. In his usual spot in the back corner, balanced on the back legs of his chair, Jake leaned against the wall. He tossed a football from hand to hand, enjoying the good-natured back and forth of his teammates.
At least this part of his life hadn’t gone bat shit crazy.
What the hell was with the women in his life lately? First, his lady boss threatens to bench him, then V insists she’ll no longer represent him if he didn’t get his ass to the farm. What did it say about him that he hadn’t had the balls to call either of their bluffs?
If
they were bluffing. He didn’t think so in either case.
The fact was, he trusted them both to tell him the truth. They were strong women who spoke their minds and didn’t need to bluff to get what they wanted. Apparently, Gracie Gable was cut from the same cloth. Damn, she was a piece of work. She’d surprised the hell out of him with her unexpected attack.
Either he was losing his touch, or she wasn’t what she appeared. He’d place his money on the latter. Clearly, he’d misjudged her. It was early yet, but between her sincere anxiety over the girls’ future, evident in her comments when he arrived at the farm, and observing her with them last night and again this morning, he couldn’t see her bolting anytime soon. He couldn’t see her bolting period. She loved the twins and it showed. The knowledge loosened the stiff knot of panic he’d been suffering since he agreed to V’s demands.
Unfortunately, his faulty judgment in another area left him dealing with a different kind of stiffness. Who knew a simple kiss could be so damned erotic? When she twirled her tongue around his, the top of his head nearly blew off. Which, at least, offered him a plausible excuse for how she’d managed to dump him on his ass.
The memory brought forth a grin.
Considering her reaction to a bit of harmless flirting and
that kiss, she wasn’t the party girl he expected either. A woman comfortable with the idea of no-strings sex would’ve jumped at the sensual lures he tossed out. Gracie definitely hadn’t jumped, but she hadn’t been immune either. Sure, she’d attempted to disguise the feminine awareness in her stunning violet eyes with her surprising show of bravado, but the way her mouth came alive under his, and her charming blush when he suggested she join him in the gym, spoke volumes.
Her mind might insist he comply with her no trespassing demands, but her body had other ideas. The blatant struggle between those conflicting desires stroked his ego as much as his libido.
He shifted in his chair, dropping the front legs to the floor. God help him if she ever did
volunteer to join him in a workout session. The thought of the princess bending over him as he sprawled out on a workbench produced some hotly erotic images, and as he’d discovered over the last hour, working out with a hard-on was damn uncomfortable.
Of course, if she had her way, he wouldn’t have the opportunity to turn any of those images into reality. That would be a damn shame, but probably for the best. The situation was complicated enough without adding sex to the mix. Then again, complications were the spice of life, and he’d never been able to resist taking on a challenge, especially when the challenge came with legs a mile long.
Still, he couldn’t blame her for her reluctance. He might not consider her the enemy, but she didn’t feel the same. She saw his inclusion in Pete’s will a threat to her custody hopes. The honorable thing to do would be to put her fears to rest. To settle V’s ruffled feathers he’d agreed to go to the farm—temporarily. He’d be leaving as soon as his reputation was back in good standing. V’s hope he’d end up playing permanent Daddy to two orphaned girls wasn’t going to come to fruition. He’d do the big brother thing and make sure they were taken care of, but he had nothing more to offer them.
Unless Gracie turned out to be some kind of crazy nut job psychopath, a possibility he couldn’t imagine since seeing her with the girls and Mary, he had no intention of fighting her for custody. She’d already won, but didn’t know it yet.
As for doing the honorable thing and telling her, where would be the fun in that? He might not be spending the full three months at the farm, but he was still putting his life on hold. Why shouldn’t he take advantage of a built-in diversion? Besides, a woman as unpredictable and prickly as Gracie begged to have her life shaken up a bit.
He ran his tongue over his teeth and contemplated a couple of particularly appealing diversions he’d like to share with the leggy princess. He owed her for her trickery in the foyer, and he was a “class A shaker,” if he did say so himself. Anticipation thrummed through his veins, and he marveled at the difference a single day made.
He arrived at the farm last night royally pissed. At himself mostly. He’d made his mark on the field long ago, earning the respect he enjoyed from his peers, fans, and the press alike. If not for his temper, he never would’ve found himself in the position of having to accept Pete’s demands in order to repair his reputation. He could’ve dealt with his newly discovered sisters on his own terms.
Discovering he’d be spending even one night in Pete Thompson’s old bedroom only made matters worse. He hadn’t slept a wink, but he’d never been the kind of man to make a commitment without giving the effort his all. He spent the night studying the situation from every angle and, somewhere around dawn, he’d come to a realization. Pete might have gotten his way, but he wouldn’t have the last word.